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A Study of the Transformations 
and Symbolisms of the Libido 

A Contribution to the History of the Evolution of Thought 


Of the University of Zurich 


Of the Neurological Department of Cornell University Medical 
School and of the New York Post Graduate Medical School 




Copyright, 1916, by 



All rights reserved 


THAT humanity is seeking a new message, a new light 
upon the meaning of life, and something tangible, as it 
were, with which it can work towards a larger under- 
standing of itself and its relation to the universe, is a 
fact I think none will gainsay. Therefore, it has 
seemed to me particularly timely to introduce to the Eng- 
lish-speaking world Dr. Jung's remarkable book, " Wand- 
lungen und Symbole der Libido." In this work he has 
plunged boldly into the treacherous sea of mythology and 
folklore, the productions of the ancient mind and that of 
the common people, and turned upon this vast material 
the same scientific and painstaking method of psychologic 
analysis that is applied to the modern mind, in order to 
reveal the common bond of desire and longing which 
unites all humanity, and thus bridge the gaps presumed 
to exist between ancient and widely separated peoples and 
those of our modern time. The discovery of this under- 
current affecting and influencing ancient peoples as well 
as modern serves as a foundation or platform from which 
he proceeds to hold aloft a new ideal, a new goal of 
attainment possible of achievement and which can be in- 
tellectually satisfying, as well as emotionally appealing: 
the goal of moral autonomy. 

This book, remarkable for its erudition and the tre- 
mendous labor expended upon it, as well as for the new 


light which it sheds upon human life, its motives, its 
needs and its possibilities, is not one for desultory read- 
ing or superficial examination. Such an approach will 
prevent the reader from gaining anything of its real 
value ; but for those who can bring a serious interest and 
willingness to give a careful study to it the work will 
prove to be a veritable mine capable of yielding the 
greatest riches. 

The difficulties in translating a book such as this are 
almost insuperable, but I have tried faithfully to express 
Dr. Jung's thought, keeping as close to the original text 
as possible and, at the same time, rendering the difficult 
material and complicated German phrasing as simply and 
clearly as the subject-matter would allow. In all this 
work I owe much to Miss Helen I. Brayton, without 
whose faithful assistance the work would never have been 
completed. I wish to acknowledge my gratitude to Mr. 
Louis Untermeyer, whose help in rendering the poetic 
quotations into English verse has been invaluable, and to 
express as well my gratitude to other friends who have 
assisted me in various ways from time to time. 

B. M. H. 

NEW YORK, 1915. 


WHEN Professor Freud of Vienna made his early 
discoveries in the realm of the neuroses, and announced 
that the basis and origin of the various symptoms 
grouped under the terms hysteria and neuroses lay in 
unfulfilled desires and wishes, unexpressed and unknown 
to the patient for the most part, and concerned chiefly 
with the sexual instinct, it was not realized what far- 
reaching influence this unpopular and bitterly attacked 
theory would exert on the understanding of human life 
in general. 

For this theory has so widened in its scope that its 
application has now extended beyond a particular group 
of pathologic states. It has in fact led to a new evalua- 
tion of the whole conduct of human life; a new compre- 
hension has developed which explains those things which 
formerly were unexplained, and there is offered an 
understanding not only of the symptoms of a neurosis 
and the phenomena of conduct but the product of the 
mind as expressed in myths and religions. 

This amazing growth has proceeded steadily in an 
ever-widening fashion despite opposition as violent as 
any of which we have knowledge in the past. The criti- 
cism originally directed towards the little understood and 



much disliked sexual conception now includes the further 
teachings of a psychology which by the application to it 
of such damning phrases as mystical, metaphysical and 
sacrilegious, is condemned as unscientific. 

To add to the general confusion and misundertanding 
surrounding this new school of thought there has arisen 
a division amongst the leaders themselves, so that there 
now exist two schools led respectively by Professor 
Sigmund Freud of Vienna and Dr. Carl Jung of Zurich, 
referred to in the literature as the Vienna School and 
the Zurich School. 

It is very easy to understand that criticism and opposi- 
tion should develop against a psychology so difficult of 
comprehension, and so disturbing to the ideas which have 
been held by humanity for ages; a psychology which 
furthermore requires a special technique as well as an 
observer trained to recognize and appreciate in psycho- 
logic phenomena a verification of the statement that 
there is no such thing as chance, and that every act and 
every expression has its own meaning, determined by the 
inner feelings and wishes of the individual. 

It is not a simple matter to come out boldly and state 
that every individual is to a large extent the determiner 
of his own destiny, for only by poets and philosophers 
has this idea been put forth not by science; and it is a 
brave act to make this statement with full consciousness 
of all its meaning, and to stand ready to prove it by 
scientific reasoning and procedure. 

Developed entirely through empirical investigation and 
through an analysis of individual cases, Freudian psy- 


chology seems particularly to belong to that conception 
of Max Miiller's that u An empirical acquaintance with 
facts rises to a scientific knowledge of facts as soon as 
the mind discovers beneath the multiplicity of single 
productions the unity of an organic system." * 

Psychoanalysis is the name given to the method de- 
veloped for reaching down into the hidden depths of the 
individual to bring to light the underlying motives and 
determinants of his symptoms and attitudes, and to reveal 
the unconscious tendencies which lie behind actions and 
reactions and which influence development and determine 
the relations of life itself. The result of digging down 
into the hidden psyche has been to produce a mass of 
material from below the threshold of consciousness, so 
astonishing and disturbing and out of relation with the 
previously held values, as to arouse in any one unfamiliar 
with the process the strongest antagonism and criticism. 

Although originally studied only as a therapeutic 
method for the sick it was soon realized through an 
analysis of normal people how slight were the differences 
in the content of the unconscious of the sick and of the 
normal. The differences observed were seen to be rather 
in the reactions to life and to the conflicts produced by 
contending forces in the individual. 

These conflicts, usually not fully perceived by the in- 
dividual, and having to do with objectionable desires and 
wishes that are not in keeping with the conscious idea of 
self, produce marked effects which are expressed either 
in certain opinions, prejudices, attitudes of conduct, 

* " Science of Language," first series, p. 25. 


faulty actions, or in some definite pathologic symptom. 
As Dr. Jung says, he who remains healthy has to struggle 
with the same complexes that cause the neurotic to fall ill. 

In a valuable book called " The Neighbor," written 
by the late Professor N. Shaler of Harvard University, 
there occurs this very far-reaching statement: "It is 
hardly too much to say that all the important errors of 
conduct, all the burdens of men or of societies are caused 
by the inadequacies in the association of the primal animal 
emotions with those mental powers which have been so 
rapidly developed in mankind." 

This statement, reached by a process of reasoning 
and a method of thought and study entirely different 
from psychoanalysis, nevertheless so completely ex- 
presses in brief form the very basis of the postulates 
developed through psychoanalysis that I quote it here. 
Such a statement made in the course of a general exam- 
ination of human relations does not arouse opposition nor 
seem to be so difficult of acceptance. It appears to be 
the individual application of these conceptions that has 
roused such bitter antagonism and violent denuncia- 

Rightly understood and used, psychoanalysis may be 
compared to surgery, for psychoanalysis stands in the 
same relation to the personality as surgery does to the 
body, and they aim at parallel results. 

It is well recognized that in the last analysis nature is 
the real physician, the healer of wounds ; but prior to the 
development of our modern asepsis and surgical technique 
the healing produced by nature was most often of a very 


faulty and imperfect type hideous scars, distorted and 
crippled limbs, with functions impaired or incapacitated, 
resulted from the wounds, or else nature was unable to 
cope with the hurt and the injured one succumbed. 

Science has been steadily working for centuries with 
the aim of understanding nature and finding means to 
aid and co-operate with her so that healing could take 
place with the least possible loss of function or permanent 
injury to the individual. Marvelous results have re- 
warded these persistent efforts, as the brilliant achieve- 
ments of surgery plainly indicate. 

Meantime, however, little thought was given to the 
possibility of any scientific method being available to help 
man overcome the wounds and conflicts taking place in 
his soul, hurts which retarded his development and prog- 
ress as a personality, and which frequently in the struggle 
resulted in physical pains and symptoms of the most 
varied character. That was left solely to religion and 
metaphysics. Now, however, this same assistance that 
surgery has given to the physical body, psychoanalysis 
attempts to give to the personality. That it cannot 
always succeed is as much to be expected, and more, 
than that surgery does not always succeed, for the 
analytic work requires much of the individual. No 
real result can be attained if he has not already 
developed a certain quality of character and intelli- 
gence which makes it possible for him to submit 
himself to a facing of his naked soul, and to the pain and 
suffering which this often entails. Here, as in no other 
relation in life, an absolute truth and an absolute honesty 


are the only basis of action, since deception of any kind 
deceives no one but the individual himself and acts as a 
boomerang, defeating his own aims. 

Such deep searching and penetrating into the soul is 
not something to be undertaken lightly nor to be con- 
sidered a trivial or simple matter, and the fact is that 
where a strong compulsion is lacking, such as sickness 
or a situation too difficult to meet, much courage is 
required to undertake it. 

In order to understand this psychology which is per- 
vading all realms of thought and seems destined to be a 
new psychological-philosophical system for the under- 
standing and practical advancement of human life, it will 
be necessary to go somewhat into detail regarding its 
development and present status. For in this new direc- 
tion lies its greatest value and its greatest danger. 

The beginnings of this work were first published in 
1895 ' m a book entitled " Studien iiber Hysteric," and 
contained the joint investigations into hysteria of Dr. 
Breuer of Vienna and his pupil Dr. Sigmund Freud. The 
results of their investigations seemed to show that the 
various symptoms grouped under the title of hysteria 
were the result of emotionally colored reminiscences 
which, all unknown to the conscious waking self, were 
really actively expressing themselves through the surro- 
gate form of symptoms and that these experiences, al- 
though forgotten by the patient, could be reproduced 
and the emotional content discharged. 

Hypnosis was the means used to enable the physician 
to penetrate deeply into the forgotten memories, for it 


was found through hypnosis that these lost incidents and 
circumstances were not really lost at all but only dropped 
from consciousness, and were capable of being revived 
when given the proper stimuli. The astonishing part 
about it was that with the revival of these memories and 
their accompanying painful and disturbing emotions, the 
symptoms disappeared. This led naturally to the con- 
clusion that these symptoms were dependent upon some 
emotional disturbance or psychic trauma which had been 
inadequately expressed, and that in order to cure the 
patient one merely had to establish the connection be- 
tween the memory and the emotions which properly 
belonged to it, letting the emotion work itself out through 
a reproduction of the forgotten scene. 

With further investigation Freud found that hypnosis 
was unnecessary for the revival of the forgotten experi- 
ences, and that it was possible to obtain the lost emotional 
material in the conscious and normal state. For this 
purpose the patient was encouraged to assume a passive, 
non-critical attitude and simply let his thoughts flow, 
speaking of whatever came into his mind, holding nothing 
back. During this free and easy discussion of his life 
and conditions, directed by the law of association of 
ideas, reference was invariably made to the experiences 
or thoughts which were the most affective and disturbing 
elements. It was seen to be quite impossible to avoid 
this indirect revelation because of the strength of the 
emotions surrounding these ideas and the effect of the 
conscious wish to repress unpleasant feelings. This im- 
portant group of ideas or impressions, with the feelings 


and emotions clustered around them which are betrayed 
through this process, was called by Jung a complex. 

However, with the touching of the complex which 
always contains feelings and emotions so painful or un- 
pleasant as to be unacceptable to consciousness, and which 
are therefore repressed and hidden, great difficulties ap- 
peared, for very often the patient came to a sudden stop 
and could apparently recall nothing more. Memory 
gaps were frequent, relations twisted, etc. Evidently 
some force banished these memories so that the person 
was quite honest in saying that he could remember noth- 
ing or that there was nothing to tell. This kind of for- 
getfulness was called repression, and is the normal 
mechanism by which nature protects the individual from 
such painful feelings as are caused by unpleasant and un- 
acceptable experiences and thoughts, the recognition of 
his egoistic nature, and the often quite unbearable con- 
flict of his weaknesses with his feelings of idealism. 

At this early time great attention was given towards 
developing a technique which would render more easy 
the reproduction of these forgotten memories, for with 
the abandonment of hypnosis it was seen that some un- 
known active force was at work which not only banished 
painful memories and feelings, but also prevented their 
return; this was called resistance. This resistance 
was found to be the important mechanism which inter- 
fered with a free flow of thought and produced the 
greatest difficulty in the further conduct of the analysis. 
It appeared under various guises and frequently mani- 
fested itself in intellectual objections based on reasoning 


ground, in criticism directed towards the analyst, or in 
criticism of the method itself, and finally, often in a com- 
plete blocking of expression, so that until the resistance 
was broken nothing more could be produced. 

It was necessary then to find some aid by which these 
resistances could be overcome and the repressed memories 
and feelings revived and set free. For it was proven 
again and again that even though the person was not at 
all aware of concealing within himself some emotionally 
disturbing feeling or experience with which his symptoms 
were associated, yet such was the fact, and that under 
proper conditions this material could be brought into 
consciousness. This realm where these unknown but dis- 
turbing emotions were hidden was called the " Uncon- 
scious " the " Unconscious " also being a name used 
arbitrarily to indicate all that material of which the per- 
son is not aware at the given time the not-conscious. 

This term is used very loosely in Freudian psychology 
and is not intended to provoke any academic discussion 
but to conform strictly to the dictionary classification of 
a " negative concept which can neither be described nor 
defined." To say that an idea or feeling is unconscious 
merely means to indicate that the individual is unaware 
at that time of its existence, or that all the material of 
which he is unaware at a given time is unconscious. 

With the discovery of the significance in relation to 
hysteria of these varied experiences and forgotten mem- 
ories which always led into the erotic realm and usually 
were carried far back into early childhood, the theory of 
an infantile sexual trauma as a cause of this neurosis de- 


veloped. Contrary to the usual belief that children have 
no sexuality and that only at puberty does it suddenly 
arise, it was definitely shown that there was a very marked 
kind of sexuality among children of the most tender years, 
entirely instinctive and capable of producing a grave effect 
on the entire later life. 

However, further investigations carried into the lives 
of normal people disclosed quite as many psychic and 
sexual traumas in their early childhood as in the lives of 
the patients; therefore, the conception of the " infantile 
sexual trauma " as the etiological factor was abandoned 
in favor of " the infantilism of sexuality " itself. In 
other words, it was soon realized that many of the sexual 
traumas which were placed in their early childhood by 
these patients, did not really exist except in their own 
phantasies and probably were produced as a defence 
against the memories of their own childish sexual activ- 
ities. These experiences led to a deep investigation into 
the nature of the child's sexuality and developed the 
ideas which Freud incorporated in a work called " Three 
Contributions to the Sexual Theory." He found so 
many variations and manifestations of sexual activity 
even among young children that he realized that this 
activity was the normal, although entirely unconscious, 
expression of the child's developing life, and while not 
comparable to the adult sexuality, nevertheless pro- 
duced a very definite influence and effect on the child's 

These childish expressions of this instinct he called 
" polymorphous perverse," because in many ways they 


resembled the various abnormalities called perversions 
when found among adults under certain conditions. 

In the light of these additional investigations Freud 
was led to change his formulation, for instead of the 
symptoms of the neurotic patient being due to definite 
sexual experiences, they seemed to be determined by 
his reactions towards his own sexual constitution and 
the kind of repression to which these instincts were 

Perhaps one of the greatest sources of misunderstand- 
ing and difficulty in this whole subject lies in the term 
sexuality, for Freud's conception of this is entirely dif- 
ferent from that of the popular sense. He conceives 
sexuality to be practically synonymous with the word 
love and to include under this term all those tender 
feelings and emotions which have had their origin in a 
primitive erotic source, even if now their primary aim is 
entirely lost and another substituted for it. It must also 
be borne in mind that Freud strictly emphasizes the 
psychic side of sexuality and its importance, as well as 
the somatic expression. 

Therefore, to understand Freud's theories, his very 
broad conception of the term sexual must never be for- 

Through this careful investigation of the psychic life 
of the individual, the tremendous influence and impor- 
tance of phantasy-making for the fate was definitely 
shown. It was discovered that the indulgence in day- 
dreams and phantasies was practically universal not only 
among children but among adults, that even whole lives 


were being lived out in a phantastic world created by the 
dreamer, a world wherein he could fulfil all those wishes 
and desires which were found to be too difficult or im- 
possible to satisfy in the world of reality. 

Much of this phantasy thinking was seen to be scarcely 
conscious, but arose from unrealized wishes, desires and 
strivings which could only express themselves through 
.veiled symbols in the form of phantastic structures not 
understood, nor fully recognized. Indeed, it is perhaps 
one of the most common human experiences to find 
" queer thoughts/' undesired ideas and images, forcing 
themselves upon one's attention to such an extent that 
the will has to be employed to push them out of mind. 
It is not unusual to discover long-forgotten impressions 
of childhood assuming a phantastic shape in memory, and 
dwelt upon as though they were still of importance. 

This material afforded a rich field for the searchers 
into the soul, for through the operation of the law of 
association of ideas these phantastic products, traced back 
to their origin, revealed the fact that instead of being 
meaningless or foolish, they were produced by a definite 
process, and arose from distinct wishes and desires which 
unconsciously veiled themselves in these mysterious forms 
and pictures. 

It is conceded that the most completely unconscious 
product of an individual is his dream, and therefore Pro- 
fessor Freud turned his attention from phantasies and 
day-dreams to the investigation of the nightly dreams of 
his patients to discover whether they would throw light 
upon the painful feelings and ideas repressed out of 


consciousness, and therefore inaccessible to direct revela- 

This brilliant idea soon led to a rich fruiting, for it 
became evident that contrary to the usual conception that 
the dream is a phantastic and absurd jumble of hetero- 
geneous fragments, having no real relation to the life of 
the individual, it is full of meaning. In fact, it is usually 
concerned with the problem of life most pressing at the 
time, which expresses itself not directly, but in symbolic 
form so as to be unrecognized. In this way the individual 
gains an expression and fulfilment of his unrealized wish 
or desire. 

This discovery of the symbolic nature of the dream 
and the phantasy was brought about entirely through the 
associative method and developed empirically through 
investigations of the dreams of many people. In this 
manner it became evident that certain ideas and objects 
which recurred again and again in the dreams and phan- 
tasies of different people were definitely associated with 
certain unconscious or unrecognized wishes and desires, 
and were repeatedly used by the mind to express these 
meanings where a direct form was repressed and un- 
allowed. Thus certain dream expressions and figures 
were in a general way considered to be rather definite 
symbols of these repressed ideas and feelings found in 
the unconscious. Through a comparative and parallel 
study it soon appeared that there was a similiar mechan- 
ism at work in myths and fairy tales and that the rela- 
tionship between the dreams and phantasies of an individ- 
ual and the myths and folk tales of a people was so close 


that Abraham could say that the myth is a fragment 
of the infantile soul life of the race and the dream is 
the myth of the individual. 

Thus through relating his dreams the patient himself 
furnished the most important means of gaining access to 
the unconscious and disturbing complexes with which his 
symptoms were connected. 

Besides the dream analysis the patient furnished other 
means of revelation of his complexes his mannerisms 
and unconscious acts, his opening remarks to his physician, 
his emotional reactions to certain ideas ; in short the whole 
behavior and verbal expressions of the individual reveal 
his inner nature and problems. 

Through all this work it became clear that in the 
emotional nature lay the origin not only of the various 
nervous illnesses themselves, but also of the isolated 
symptoms and individual idiosyncrasies and peculiarities 
which are the part of all humanity and that the patho- 
genic cause of the disturbances lies not in the ignorance 
of individuals, but in those inner resistances which are the 
underlying basis of this ignorance. 

Therefore the aim of the therapy became not merely 
the relief of the ignorance but the searching out and com- 
bating of these resistances. 

It becomes evident from even this brief description 
of the analytic procedure that we are dealing with a very 
complex and delicate material, and with a technique which 
needs to make definite use of all influences available for 
the help of the patient. It has long been recognized 
that the relation established between physician and pa- 


tient has a great effect upon the medical assistance which 
he is able to render in other words, if a confidence and 
personal regard developed in the patient towards the 
physician, the latter's advice was just so much more 
efficacious. This personal feeling has been frankly recog- 
nized and made of distinct service in psychoanalytic treat- 
ment under the name of transference. It is through 
the aid of this definite relationship which must be 
established in the one being analyzed towards the analyst 
that it is possible to deal with the unconscious and 
organized resistances which so easily blind the individual 
and render the acceptance of the new valuations very 
difficult to the raw and sensitive soul. 

Freud's emphasis upon the role of the sexual instinct 
in the production of the neurosis and also in its determin- 
ing power upon the personality of the normal individual 
does not imply that he does not also recognize other 
determinants at the root of human conduct, as for 
instance, the instinct for preservation of life and the ego 
principle itself. But these motives are not so violently 
forbidden and repressed as the sexual impulse, and there- 
fore, because of that repressive force and the strength 
of the impulse he considers this primary in its influence 
upon the human being. 

The importance of this instinct upon human life is 
clearly revealed by the great place given to it under the 
name of love in art, literature, poetry, romance and all 
beauty from the beginning of recorded time. Viewed in 
this light it cannot seem extraordinary that a difficulty 
or disturbance in this emotional field should produce such 


far-reaching consequences for the individual. The sexual 
impulse is often compared with that of hunger, and this 
craving and need lying in all humanity is called by Freud 


With further investigations into the nature of the 
repressed complexes a very astonishing situation was 
revealed. The parental influence on children is some- 
thing so well recognized and understood that to call at- 
tention to it sounds much like a banality. However, here 
an extraordinary discovery was made, for in tracing out 
the feelings and emotions of adults it became evident 
that this influence was paramount not only for children 
but for adults as well; that the entire direction of lives 
was largely determined quite unconsciously by the pa- 
rental associations, and that, although adults, the emo- 
tional side of their nature was still infantile in type and 
demanded unconsciously the infantile or childish rela- 

Freud traces out the commencement of the infantile 
attachment for the parents in this wise. 

In the beginning the child derives its first satisfaction 
and pleasure from the mother in the form of nutrition 
and care for its wants. In this first act of suckling Freud 
sees already a kind of sexual pleasure, for he apparently 
identifies the pleasure principle and the sexual instinct 
and considers that the former is primarily rooted in the 
latter. At this early time commence such various infan- 
tile actions unconnected with nutrition as thumbsucking, 


various movements of the body as rubbing, boring, 
pulling and other manifestations of a definite interest in 
its own body, a delight in nakedness, the pleasure ex- 
hibited in inflicting pain on some object and its opposite, 
the pleasure from receiving pain. All of these afford the 
child pleasure and satisfaction, and because they seem 
analogous to certain perversions in adults they are called 
by Freud the " polymorphous perverse sexuality " of 
childhood. The character of these instinctive actions 
which have nothing to do with any other person, and 
through which the child attains pleasure from its own 
body, caused Freud to term this phase of life as auto- 
erotic after Havelock Ellis. However, with the growth 
of the child there is a parallel development of the psychic 
elements of its sexual nature and now the mother, the 
original object of its love, primarily determined by its 
helplessness and need, acquires a new valuation. The 
beginnings of the need for a love object to satisfy the 
craving or libido of the child are early in evidence and, 
following along sex lines in general, the little son prefers 
the mother and the daughter the father after the usual 
preference of the parents. 

At this early time children feel deeply the enormous 
importance of their parents and their entire world is 
bounded by the family circle. All the elements of the 
ego which the child possesses have now become manifest; 
love, jealousy, curiosity, hate, etc., and those instincts 
are directed in the greatest degree towards the objects 
of their libido, namely the parents. With the growing 
ego of the child there is a development of strong wishes 


and desires demanding satisfaction which can only be 
gratified by the mother; therefore there is aroused in 
the small son the feeling of jealousy and anger towards 
the father in whom he sees a rival for the affection of 
the mother and whom he would like to replace. This 
desire in the soul of the child Freud calls the Oedipus 
complex in recognition of its analogy to the tragedy 
of King Oedipus who was drawn by his fate to kill his 
father and win his mother for a wife. Freud presents 
this as the nuclear complex of every neurosis. 

At the basis of this complex, some trace of which can 
be found in every person, Freud sees a definite incest wish 
towards the mother which only lacks the quality of con- 
sciousness. Because of moral reactions this wish is 
quickly subjected to repression through the operation of 
the " incest barrier," a postulate he compares to the incest 
taboo found among inferior peoples. At this time the 
child is beginning to develop its typical sexual curiosity 
expressed by the question, " Where do I come from?" 
The interest and investigation of the child into this prob- 
lem, aided by observations and deductions from various 
actions and attitudes of the parents, who have no idea 
of the watchfulness of the child, lead him, because of his 
imperfect knowledge and immature development, into 
many false theories and ideas of, birth. These infantile 
sexual theories are held by Freud to be determinative in 
the development of the child's character and also for the 
contents of the unconscious as expressed in a future 

These various reactions of the child and his sexual curi- 


osity are entirely normal and unavoidable, and if his 
development proceeds in an orderly fashion then, at the 
time of definite object choice he will pass smoothly over 
from the limitations of the family attachment out into 
the world and find therein his independent existence. 

However, if the libido remains fixed on the first chosen 
object so that the growing individual is unable to tear 
himself loose from these familial ties, then the incestuous 
bond is deepened with the developing sexual instinct and 
its accompanying need of a love object, and the entire 
future of the young personality endangered. For with 
the development of the incestuous bond the natural re- 
pressions deepen because the moral censor cannot allow 
these disturbing relations to become clear to the individ- 
ual. Therefore, the whole matter is repressed more 
deeply into the unconscious, and even a feeling of posi- 
tive enmity and repulsion towards the parents is often 
developed in order to conceal and over-compensate for 
the impossible situation actually present. 

This persistence of the attachment of the libido to the 
original object, and the inability to find in this a suitable 
satisfaction for the adult need, interferes with the normal 
development of the psycho-sexual character, and it is due 
to this that the adult retains that " infantilism of sexual- 
ity " which plays so great a role in determining the in- 
stability of the emotional life which so frequently leads 
into the definite neuroses. 

These were the conclusions reached and the ground on 
which Freudian psychology rested, regarding the etiology 


of the neurosis, and the tendencies underlying normal 
human mechanisms, when Dr. Carl Jung, the most promi- 
nent of Freud's disciples, and the leader of the Zurich 
scho'ol, found himself no longer able to agree with 
Freud's findings in certain particulars, although the 
phenomena which Freud observed and the technique of 
psychoanalysis developed by Freud were the material on 
which Jung worked and the value of which he clearly 
emphasizes. The differences which have developed lay 
in his understanding and interpretation of the phenomena 

Beginning with the conception of libido itself as a 
term used to connote sexual hunger and craving, albeit 
the meaning of the word sexual was extended by Freud 
to embrace a much wider significance than common usage 
has assigned it, Jung was unable to confine himself to 
this limitation. He conceived this longing, this urge. or 
push of life as something extending beyond sexuality even 
in its wider sense. He saw in the term libido a concept 
of unknown nature, comparable to Bergson's elan vital, 
a hypothetical energy of life, which occupies itself not 
only in sexuality but in various physiological and psycho- 
logical manifestations such as growth, development, 
hunger, and all the human activities and interests. This 
cosmic energy or urge manifested in the human being he 
calls libido and compares it with the energy of physics. 
Although recognizing, in common with Freud as well as 
with many others, the primal instinct of reproduction as 
the basis of many functions and present-day activities of 
mankind no longer sexual in character he repudiates the 


idea of still calling them sexual, even though their de- 
velopment was a growth originally out of the sexual. 
Sexuality and its various manifestations Jung sees as most 
important channels occupied by libido, but not the ex- 
clusive ones through which libido flows. 

This is an energic concept of life ; and from this view- 
point this hypothetical energy of life or libido is a living 
power used instinctively by man in all the automatic 
processes of his functioning; such very processes being 
but different manifestations of this energy. By virtue 
of its quality of mobility and change man, through his 
understanding and intelligence, has the power consciously 
to direct and use his libido in definite and desired ways. 

In this conception of Jung will be seen an analogy to 
Bergson, who speaks of " this change, this movement and 
becoming, this self-creation, call it what you will, as the 
very stuff and reality of our being." * 

In developing the energic conception of libido and 
separating it from Freud's sexual definition, Jung makes 
possible the explanation of interest in general, and pro- 
vides a working concept by which not only the specifically 
sexual, but the general activities and reactions of man can 
be understood. 

If a person complains of no longer having interest in 
his work or of losing interest in his surroundings, then one 
understands that his libido is withdrawn from this object 
and that in consequence the object itself seems no longer 
attractive, whereas, as a matter of fact, the object itself 
is exactly the same as formerly. In other words, it is 

* " Creative Evolution." 


the libido that we bestow upon an object that makes it 
attractive and interesting. 

The causes for the withdrawal of libido may be various 
and are usually quite different from those that the persons 
offer in explanation. It is the task of psychoanalysis to 
discover the real reasons, which are usually hidden and 
unknown. On the other hand, when an individual ex- 
hibits an exaggerated interest or places an over-emphasis 
upon an idea or situation, then we know there is too much 
libido here and that we may find as a consequence a corre- 
sponding depletion elsewhere. 

This leads directly into the second point of difference 
between Jung's views and those of Freud. This is con- 
cerned with those practically universal childish mani- 
festations of sexuality called by Freud " polymorphous 
perverse " because of their similarity to those abnormal- 
ities of sexuality which occur in adults and are called 

Jung takes exception to this viewpoint. He sees in the 
various manifestations of childhood the precursors or 
forerunners of the later fully developed sexuality, and 
instead of considering them perverse he considers them 
preliminary expressions of sexual coloring. He divides 
human life into three stages. The first stage up to about 
the third or fourth year, generally speaking, he calls the 
presexual stage, for there he sees the libido or life 
energy occupied chiefly in the functions of nutrition and 
growth, and he draws an analogy between this period and 
that of the caterpillar stage of the butterfly. 

The second stage includes the years from this time 


until puberty, and this he speaks of as the prepubertal 

The third period is that from puberty onward and can 
be considered the time of maturity. 

It is in the earliest stage, the period of which varies 
greatly in different individuals, that are fully inaugurated 
those various manifestations which have so marked a 
sexual coloring that there can be no question of their 
relationship, although at that time sexuality in the adult 
meaning of the word does not exist. 

Jung explains the polymorphism of these phenomena 
as arising from a gradual movement of the libido from 
exclusive service in the function of nutrition into new 
avenues which successively open up with the development 
of the child until the final inauguration of the sexual func- 
tion proper at puberty. Normally these childish bad 
habits are gradually relinquished until the libido is en- 
tirely withdrawn from these immature phases and with 
the ushering in of puberty for the first time " appears in 
the form of an undifferentiated sexual primitive power, 
clearly forcing the individual towards division, budding, 


However, if in the course of its movement from the 
function of nutrition to the sexual function the libido is 
arrested or retarded at any phase, then a fixation may 
result, creating a disturbance in the harmony of the 
normal development. For, although the libido is re- 
tarded and remains clinging to some childish manifesta- 
tion, time goes on and the physical growth of the child 
does not stand still. Soon a great contrast is created 


between the infantile manifestations of the emotional 
life and the needs of the more adult individual, and the 
foundation is thus prepared for either the development 
of a definite neurosis or else for those weaknesses of 
character or symptomatic disturbances which are not 
sufficiently serious to be called a neurosis. 

One of the most active and important forms of childish 
libido occupation is in phantasy making. The child's 
world is one of imagery and make-believe where he can 
create for himself that satisfaction and enjoyment which 
the world of reality so often denies. As the child grows 
and real demands of life are made upon him it becomes 
increasingly necessary that his libido be taken away from 
his phantastic world and used for the required adaptation 
to reality needed by his age and condition, until finally 
for the adult the freedom of the whole libido is necessary 
to meet the biological and cultural demands of life. 

Instead of thus employing the libido in the real world, 
however, certain people never relinquish the seeking for 
satisfaction in the shadowy world of phantasy and even 
though they make certain attempts at adaptation they 
are halted and discouraged by every difficulty and ob- 
stacle in the path of life and are easily pulled back into 
their inner psychic world. This condition is called a 
state of introversion. It is concerned with the past and 
the reminiscences which belong thereto. Situations and 
experiences which should have been completed and fin- 
ished long ago are still dwelt upon and lived with. 
Images and matters which were once important but which 
normally have no significance for their later age are still 


actively influencing their present lives. The nature and 
character of these phantasy products are legion, and are 
easily recognized in the emotional attitudes and preten- 
sions, the childish illusions and exaggerations, the preju- 
dices and inconsistencies which people express in mani- 
fold forms. The actual situation is inadequately faced; 
small matters are reacted towards in an exaggerated 
manner; or else a frivolous attitude is maintained where 
real seriousness is demanded. In other words, there is 
clearly manifested an inadequate psychic adaptation to- 
wards reality which is quite to be expected from the 
child, but which is very discordant in the adult. 

The most important o.f these past influences is that of 
the parents. Because they are the first objects of the 
developing childish love, and afford the first satisfaction 
and pleasure to the child, they become the models for all 
succeeding efforts, as Freud has worked out. This he 
called the nuclear or root complex because this influence 
was so powerful it seemed to be the determining factor 
in all later difficulties in the life of the individual. 

In this phase of the problem lies the third great dif- 
ference between Jung's interpretation of the observed 
phenomena and that of Freud. 

Jung definitely recognizes that there are many neurotic 
persons who clearly exhibited in their childhood the same 
neurotic tendencies that are later exaggerated. Also that 
an almost overwhelming effect on the destiny of these 
children is exercised by the influence of the parents, the 
frequent over-anxiety or tenderness, the lack of sympathy 
or understanding, in other words, the complexes of the 


parent reacting upon the child and producing in him love, 
admiration, fear, distrust, hate, revolt. The greater the 
sensitiveness and impressionability of the child, the more 
he will be stamped with the familial environment, and 
the more he will unconsciously seek to find again in the 
world of reality the model of his own small world with 
all the pleasures and satisfactions, or disappointments 
and unhappinesses with which it was filled. 

This condition to be sure is not a recognized or a 
conscious one, for the individual may think himself per- 
fectly free from this past influence because he is living in 
the real world, and because actually there is a great dif- 
ference between the present conditions and that of his 
childish past. He sees all this, intellectually, but there is 
a wide gap between the intellectual grasp of a situation 
and the emotional development, and it is the latter 
realm wherein lies the disharmony. However, although 
many ideas and feelings are connected with the parents, 
analysis reveals very often that they are only subjective 
and that in reality they bear little resemblance to the actual 
past situation. Therefore, Jung speaks no longer of the 
real father and mother but uses the term imago or image 
to represent the father or mother, because the feelings 
and phantasies frequently do not deal with the real 
parents but with the distorted and subjective image 
created by the imagination of the individual. 

Following this distinction Jung sees in the Oedipus 
complex of Freud only a symbol for the " childish de- 
sire towards the parents and for the conflict which this 
craving evokes," and cannot accept the theory that in this 


early stage of childhood the mother has any real sexual 
significance for the child. 

The demands of the child upon the mother, the 
jealousy so often exhibited, are at first connected with 
the role of the mother as protector, caretaker and sup- 
plier of nutritive wants, and only later, with the germinat- 
ing eroticism, does the child's love become admixed with 
the developing sexual quality. The chief love objects are 
still the parents and he naturally continues to seek and 
to find in them satisfaction for all his desires. In this 
way the typical conflict is developed which in the son is 
directed towards the father and in the daughter towards 
the mother. This jealousy of the daughter towards the 
mother is called the Electra complex from the myth of 
Electra who took revenge on her mother for the murder 
of the husband because she was in this way deprived of 
her father. 

Normally as puberty is attained the child gradually 
becomes more or less freed from his parents, and upon 
the degree in which this is accomplished depends his 
health and future well-being. 

This demand of nature upon the young individual to 
free himself from the bonds of his childish dependency 
and to find in the world of reality his independent exist- 
ence is so imperious and dominating that it frequently 
produces in the child the greatest struggles and severest 
conflicts, the period being characterized symbolically as a 
self -sacrifice by Jung. 

It frequently happens that the young person is so 
closely bound in the family relations that it is only with 


the greatest difficulty that he can attain any measure of 
freedom and then only very imperfectly, so that the libido 
sexualis can only express itself in certain feelings and 
phantasies which clearly reveal the existence of the com- 
plex until then entirely hidden and unrealized. Now 
commences the secondary struggle against the unfilial and 
immoral feelings with a consequent development of 
intense resistances expressing themselves in irritation, 
anger, revolt and antagonism against the parents, or else 
in an especially tender, submissive and yielding attitude 
which over-compensates for the rebellion and reaction 
held within. 

This struggle and conflict gives rise to the unconscious 
phantasy of self-sacrifice which really means the sacri- 
ficing of the childish tendencies and love type in order to 
free libido; for his nature demands that he attain the 
capacity for the accomplishment of his own personal 
fulfilment, the satisfaction of which belongs to the de- 
veloped man and woman. 

This conception has been worked out in detail by 
Jung in the book which is herein presented to English 

We now come to the most important of Jung's con- 
ceptions in that it bears practically upon the treatment 
of certain types of the neuroses and stands theoretically 
in direct opposition to Freud's hypothesis. While recog- 
nizing fully the influence of the parents and of the sexual 
constitution of the child, Jung refuses to see in this in- 
fantile past the real cause for the later development of 
the illness. He definitely places the cause of the patho- 


genie conflict in the present moment and considers that in 
seeking for the cause in the distant past one is only fol- 
lowing the desire of the patient, which is to withdraw 
himself as much as possible from the present important 

The conflict is produced by some important task or 
duty which is essential biologically and practically for the 
fulfilment of the ego of the individual, but before which 
an obstacle arises from which he shrinks, and thus halted 
cannot go on. With this interference in the path of 
progression libido is stored up and a regression takes 
place whereby there occurs a reanimation of past ways 
of libido occupation which were entirely normal to the 
child, but which for the adult are no longer of value. 
These regressive infantile desires and phantasies now 
alive and striving for satisfaction are converted into 
symptoms, and in these surrogate forms obtain a certain 
gratification, thus creating the external manifestations of 
the neurosis. Therefore Jung does not ask from what 
psychic experience or point of fixation in childhood the 
patient is suffering, but what is the present duty or task 
he is avoiding, or what obstacle in his life's path he is 
unable to overcome ? What is the cause of his regression 
to past psychic experiences? 

Following this theory Jung expresses the view that the 
elaborate phantasies and dreams produced by these pa- 
tients arc really forms of compensation or artificial sub- 
stitutes for the unfulfilled adaptation to reality. The 
sexual content of these phantasies and dreams is only 
apparently and not actually expressive of a real sexual 


desire or incest wish, but is a regressive employment of 
sexual forms to symbolically express a present-day need 
when the attainment of the present ego demand seems 
too difficult or impossible, and no adaptation is made to 
what is possible for the individual's capability.* 

With this statement Jung throws a new light on the 
work of analytic psychology and on the conception of 
the neurotic symptoms, and renders possible of under- 
standing the many apparent incongruities and conflicting 
observations which have been so disturbing to the critics. 

It now becomes proper to ask what has been estab- 
lished by all this mass of investigation into the soul, and 
what is its value not only as a therapeutic measure for 
the neurotic sufferer, but also for the normal human 

First and perhaps most important is the recognition of 
a definite psychological determinism. Instead of human 
life being filled with foolish, meaningless or purposeless 
actions, errors and thoughts, it can be demonstrated that 
no expression or manifestation of the psyche, however 
trifling or inconsistent in appearance, is really lawless or 
unmotivated. Only a possession of the technique is neces- 
sary in order to reveal, to any one desirous of knowing, 
the existence of the unconscious determinants of his man- 
nerisms, trivial expressions, acts and behavior, their 
purpose and significance. 

*For a more complete presentation of Jung's views consult his 
" Theory of Psychoanalysis " in the Nervous and Mental Disease Mono- 
graph Series, No. 19. 


This leads into the second fundamental conception, 
which is perhaps even less considered than the foregoing, 
and that is the relative value of the conscious mind and 
thought. It is the general attitude of people to judge 
themselves by their surface motives, to satisfy themselves 
by saying or thinking " this is what I want to do or say " 
or " I intended to do thus and so," but somehow what 
one thought, one intended to say or expected to do is very 
often the contrary of what actually is said or done. 
Every one has had these experiences when the gap be- 
tween the conscious thought and action was gross enough 
to be observed. It is also a well known experience to 
consciously desire something very much and when it is 
obtained to discover that this in no wise satisfied or 
lessened the desire, which was then transferred to some 
other object. Thus one became cognizant of the fact 
that the feeling and idea presented by consciousness as 
the desire was an error. What is the difficulty in these 
conditions? Evidently some other directing force than 
that of which we are aware is at work. 

Dr. G. Stanley Hall uses a very striking symbol when 
he compares the mind to an iceberg floating in the ocean 
with one-eighth visible above the water and seven-eighths 
below the one-eighth above being that part called con- 
scious and the seven-eighths below that which we call the 
unconscious. The influence and controlling power of the 
unconscious desires over our thoughts and acts are in this 
relative proportion. Faint glimmers of other motives 
and interests than those we accept or which we believe, 
often flit into consciousness. These indications, if studied 


or valued accurately, would lead to the realization that 
consciousness is but a single stage and but one form of 
expression of mind. Therefore its dictum is but one, 
often untrustworthy, approach to the great question as 
to what is man's actual psychic accomplishment, and as 
to what in particular is the actual soul development of 
the individual. 

A further contribution of equal importance has been 
the empiric development of a dynamic theory of life ; the 
conception that life is in a state of flux movement lead- 
ing either to construction or destruction. Through the 
development man has reached he has attained the power 
by means of his intelligence and understanding of defi- 
nitely directing to a certain extent this life energy or 
libido into avenues which serve his interest and bring a 
real satisfaction for the present day. 

When man through ignorance and certain inherent 
tendencies fails to recognize his needs or his power to 
fulfil them, or to adapt himself to the conditions of reality 
of the present time, there is then produced that reanima- 
tion of infantile paths by which an attempt is made to 
gain fulfilment or satisfaction through the production of 
symptoms or attitudes. 

The acceptance of these statements demands the recog- 
nition of the existence of an infantile sexuality and the 
large part played by it in the later life of the individual. 
Because of the power and imperious influence exerted by 
the parents upon the child, and because of the unconscious 
attachment of his libido to the original object, the mother, i 
and the perseverance of this first love model in the 


psyche, he finds it very difficult, on reaching the stage 
of adult development and the time for seeking a love 
object outside of the family, to gain a satisfactory model. 

It is exceedingly important for parents and teachers 
to recognize the requirements of nature, which, beginning 
with puberty, imperiously demand of the young indi- 
vidual a separation of himself from the parent stem and 
the development of an independent existence. In our 
complex modern civilization this demand of nature is 
difficult enough of achievement for the child who has the 
heartiest and most intelligent co-operation of his parents 
and environment but for the one who has not only to 
contend with his own inner struggle for his freedom 
but has in addition the resistance of his parents who 
would hold him in his childhood at any cost, because they 
cannot endure the thought of his separation from them, 
the task becomes one of the greatest magnitude. It is 
during this period when the struggle between the childish 
inertia and nature's urge becomes so keen, that there occur 
the striking manifestations of jealousy, criticism, irritabil- 
ity all usually directed against the parents, of defiance 
of parental authority, of runaways and various other 
psychic and nervous disorders known to all. 

This struggle, which is the first great task of mankind 
and the one which requires the greatest effort, is that 
which is expressed by Jung as the self-sacrifice motive 
the sacrifice of the childish feelings and demands, and of 
the irresponsibility of this period, and the assumption of 
the duties and tasks of an individual existence. 

It is this great theme which Jung sees as the real 


motive lying hidden in the myths and religions of man 
from the beginning, as well as in the literature and 
artistic creations of both ancient and modern time, 
and which he works out with the greatest wealth of 
detail and painstaking effort in the book herewith pre- 

This necessitates a recognition and revaluation of the 
enormous importance and influence of the ego and the 
sexual instinct upon the thought and reaction of man, 
and also predicates a displacement of the psychological 
point of gravity from the will and intellect to the realm 
of the emotions and feelings. The desired end is a 
synthesis of these two paths or the use of the intellect 
constructively in the service of the emotions in order to 
gain for the best interest of the individual some sort of 
co-operative reaction between the two. 

No one dealing with analytic psychology can fail to 
be struck by the tremendous and unnecessary burdens 
which man has placed upon himself, and how greatly 
he has increased the difficulties of adaptation by his rigid 
intellectual .views and moral formulas, and by his inability 
to admit to himself that he is actually just a human being 
imperfect, and containing within himself all manner of 
tendencies, good and bad, all striving for some satisfac- 
tory goal. Further, that the refusal to see himself in 
this light instead of as an ideal person in no way alters 
the actual condition, and that in fact, through the cheap 
pretense of being able only to consider himself as a very 
virtuous person, or as shocked and hurt when observing 
the " sins " of others, he actually is prevented from de- 


veloping his own character and bringing his own capac- 
ities to their fullest expressions. 

There is frequently expressed among people the idea 
of how fortunate it is that we cannot see each other's 
thoughts, and how disturbing it would be if our real 
feelings could be read. But what is so shameful in these 
secrets of the soul? They are in reality our own egoistic 
desires all striving, longing, wishing for satisfaction, for 
happiness; those desires which instinctively crave their 
own gratification but which can only be really fulfilled by 
adapting them to the real world and to the social group. 

Why is it that it is so painful for man to admit that 
the prime influence in all human endeavor is found in the 
ego itself, in its desires, wishes, needs and satisfactions, 
in short, in its need for self-expression and self-perpetua- 
tion, the evolutionary impetus in life? 

The basis for the unpleasantness of this idea may per- 
haps be found in an inner resistance in nature itself which 
forces man to include others in his scheme, lest his own 
greedy desires should serve to destroy him. But even 
with this inner demand and all the ethical and moral 
teachings of centuries it is everywhere evident that man 
has only very imperfectly learned that it is to his own 
interest to consider his neighbor and that it is impossible 
for him to ignore the needs of the body social of which 
he is a part. Externally, the recognition of the strength 
of the ego impulse is objectionable because of the ideal 
conception that self-striving and so-called selfish seeking 
are unworthy, ignoble and incompatible with a desirable 
character and must be ignored at all cost. 


The futility of this attitude is to be clearly seen in the 
failure after all these centuries to even approximate it, 
as evidenced in our human relations and institutions, and 
is quite as ineffectual in this realm as in that of sexuality 
where the effort to overcome this imperious domination 
has been attempted by lowering the instinct, and seeing 
in it something vile or unclean, something unspeakable 
and unholy. Instead of destroying the power of sexuality 
this struggle has only warped and distorted, injured and 
mutilated the expression; for not without destruction of 
the individual can these fundamental instincts be de- 
stroyed. Life itself has needs and imperiously demands 
expression through the forms created. All nature 
answers to this freely and simply except man. His fail- 
ure to recognize himself as an instrument through which 
the life energy is coursing and the demands of which 
must be obeyed, is the cause of his misery. Despite his 
possession of intellect and self-consciousness, he cannot 
without disaster to himself refuse the tasks of life and 
the fulfilment of his own needs. Man's great task is 
the adaptation of himself to reality and the recognition 
of himself as an instrument for the expression of life 
according to his individual possibilities. 

It is in his privilege as a self-creator that his highest 
purpose is found. 

The value of self-consciousness lies in the fact that 
man is enabled to reflect upon himself and learn to under- 
stand the true origin and significance of his actions and 
opinions, that he may adequately value the real level of 
his development and avoid being self-deceived and there- 


fore inhibited from finding his biological adaptation. He 
need no longer be unconscious of the motives underlying 
his actions or hide himself behind a changed exterior, 
in other words, be merely a series of reactions to stimuli 
as the mechanists have it, but he may to a certain extent 
become a self-creating and self-determining being. 

Indeed, there seems to be an impulse towards adapta- 
tion quite as Bergson sees it, and it would seem to be a 
task of the highest order to use intelligence to assist one's 
self to work with this impulse. 

Through the investigation of these different avenues 
leading into the hidden depths of the human being and 
through the revelation of the motives and influences at 
work there, although astonishing to the uninitiated, a 
very clear and definite conception of the actual human 
relationship brotherhood of all mankind is obtained. 
It is this recognition of these common factors basically 
inherent in humanity from the beginning and still active, 
which is at once both the most hopeful and the most 
feared and disliked part of psychoanalysis. 

It is disliked by those individuals who have prided 
themselves upon their superiority and the distinction be- 
tween their reactions and motives and those of ordinary 
mankind. In other words, they attempt to become per- 
sonalities through elevating themselves and lowering 
others, and it is a distinct blow to discover that beneath 
these pretensions lie the very ordinary elements shared 
in common by all. On the other hand, to those who have 
been able to recognize their own weaknesses and have 


suffered in the privacy of their own souls, the knowledge 
that these things have not set them apart from others, 
but that they are the common property of all and that 
no one can point the finger of scorn at his fellow, is one 
of the greatest experiences of life and is productive 
of the greatest relief. 

It is feared by many who realize that in these painfully 
acquired repressions and symptoms lie their safety and 
their protection from directly facing and dealing with 
tendencies and characteristics with which they feel unable 
to cope. The repression and the accompanying symptoms 
indicate a difficulty and a struggle, and in this way are 
a sort of compromise or substitute formation which 
permit, although only in a wasteful and futile manner, 
the activity of the repressed tendencies. Nevertheless, 
to analyze the individual back to his original tendencies 
and reveal to him the meaning of these substitute forma- 
tions would be a useless procedure in which truly " the 
last state of that man would be worse than the first " 
if the work ceased there. The aim is not to destroy 
those barriers upon which civilized man has so painfully 
climbed and to reduce him to his primitive state, but, 
where these have failed or imperfectly succeeded, to help 
him to attain his greatest possibilities with less expendi- 
ture of energy, by less wasteful methods than nature 
provides. In this achievement lies the hopeful and valu- 
able side of this method the development of the syn- 
thesis. It is hopeful because now a way is opened to 
deal with these primitive tendencies constructively, and 
render their effects not only harmless but useful, by 


utilizing them in higher aims, socially and individually 
valuable and satisfactory. 

This is what has occurred normally in those individuals 
who seem capable and constructive personalities ; in those 
creative minds that give so much to the race. They have 
converted certain psychological tendencies which could 
have produced useless symptoms or destructive actions 
into valuable productions. Indeed it is not uncommon 
for strong, capable persons to state themselves that they 
knew they could have been equally capable of a wasteful 
or destructive life. This utilization of the energy or 
libido freed by removing the repressions and the lifting 
of infantile tendencies and desires into higher purposes 
and directions suitable for the individual at his present 
status is called sublimation. 

It must not be understood by this discussion that 
geniuses or wonderful personalities can be created 
through analysis, for this is not the aim of the procedure. 
Its purpose is to remove the inhibitions and restrictions 
which interfere with the full development of the per- 
sonality, to help individuals attain to that level where 
they really belong, and to prepare people to better under- 
stand and meet life whether they are neurotic sufferers 
or so-called " normal people " with the difficulties and 
peculiarities which belong to all. 

This reasoning and method of procedure is only new 
when the application is made to the human being. In 
all improvements of plants and animals these general 
principles have been recognized and their teachings con- 
structively utilized. 


Luther Burbank, that plant wizard whose work is 
known to all the world, says, u A knowledge of the battle 
of the tendencies within a plant is the very basis of all 
plant improvement," and " it is not that the work of plant 
improvement brings with it, incidentally, as people mis- 
takenly think, a knowledge of these forces, it is the knowl- 
edge of these forces, rather, which makes plant improve- 
ment possible. " 

Has this not been also the mistake of man regarding 
himself, and the cause, partly at least, of his failure to 
succeed in actually reaching a more advanced and stable 

This recognition of man's biological relationship to 
all life and the practical utilization of this recognition, 
necessitates a readjustment of thought and asks for an 
examination and reconsideration of the facts of human 
conduct which are observable by any thoughtful person. 
A quiet and progressive upheaval of old ideas has taken 
place and is still going on. Analytic psychology attempts 
to unify and value all of the various phenomena of man 
which have been observed and noted at different times 
by isolated investigators of isolated manifestations and 
thus bring some orderly sequence into the whole. It 
offers a method whereby the relations of the human being 
biologically to all other living forms can be established, 
the actual achievement of man himself adequately valued, 
and opens a vista of the possibilities of improvement in 
health, happiness and accomplishment for the human 


10 Gramercy Park. 


MY task in this work has been to investigate an indi- 
vidual phantasy system, and in the doing of it problems 
of such magnitude have been uncovered, that my en- 
deavor to grasp them in their entirety has necessarily 
meant only a superficial orientation toward those paths, 
the opening and exploration of which may possibly 
crown the work of future investigators with success. 

I am not in sympathy with the attitude which favors 
the repression of certain possible working hypotheses 
because they are perhaps erroneous, and so may possess 
no lasting value. Certainly I endeavored as far as pos- 
sible to guard myself from error, which might indeed 
become especially dangerous upon these dizzy heights, 
for I am entirely aware of the risks of these investiga- 
tions. However, I do not consider scientific work as a 
dogmatic contest, but rather as a work done for the in- 
crease and deepening of knowledge. 

This contribution is addressed to those having similar 
ideas concerning science. 

In conclusion, I must render thanks to those who have 
assisted my endeavors with valuable aid, especially my 
dear wife and my friends, to whose disinterested assist* 

ance I am deeply indebted. 

C. G. JUNG. 




AUTHOR'S NOTE . xlvii 




Relation of the Incest Phantasy to the Oedipus Legend 
Moral revulsion over such a discovery The unity of the 
antique and modern psychology Followers of Freud in this 
field The need of analyzing historical material in rela- 
tion to individual analysis. 


Antiquity of the belief in dreams Dream-meanings psycho- 
logical, not literal They concern wish-fulfilments A 
typical dream: the sexual assault What is symbolic in our 
everyday thinking? One kind of thinking: intensive and 
deliberate, or directed Directed thinking and thinking in 
words Origin of speech in primitive nature sounds The 
evolution of speech Directed thinking a modern acquisition 
Thinking, not directed, a thinking in images: akin to 
dreaming Two kinds of thinking: directed and dream or 
phantasy thinking Science an expression of directed thinking 
The discipline of scholasticism as a forerunner Antique 
spirit created not science but mythology Their world of 
subjective phantasies similar to that we find in the child- 
mind of to-day ; or in the savage The dream shows a simi- 
lar type Infantile thinking and dreams a re-echo of the 
prehistoric and the ancient The myths a mass-dream of 
the people: the dream the myth of the individual Phantastic 
thinking concerns wishes Typical cases, showing kinship 
with ancient myths Psychology of man changes but slowly 
Phantastic thinking tells us of mythical or other material 
of undeveloped and no longer recognized wish tendencies 
in the soul The sexual base The wish, because of its 
disturbing nature, expressed not directly, but symbolically. 


Miss Miller's unusual suggestibility Identifying herself 
with others Examples of her autosuggestibility and sug- 
gestive effect Not striking in themselves, but from analytic 
viewpoint they afford a glance into the soul of the writer 
Her phantasies really tell of the history of her love. 


Miss Miller's description of a sea-journey Really a de- 
scription of " introversion " A retreat from reality into 



herself The return to the real world with erotic impres- 
sion of officer singing in the night-watch The under- 
valuing of such erotic impressions Their often deep effect 
The succeeding dream, and poem The denied erotic im- 
pression usurps an earlier transference: it expresses itself 
through the Father-Imago Analysis of the poem Relation 
to Cyrano, Milton and Job The attempt to escape the 
problem by a religious and ethical pose Contrast with real 
religion Escape from erotic by transference to a God or 
Christ This made effective by mutual transference : " Love 
one another " The erotic spiritualized, however The inner 
conflict kept conscious by this method The modern, how- 
ever, represses the conflict and so becomes neurotic The 
function of Christianity Its biologic purpose fulfilled Its 
forms of thought and wisdom still available. 


The double role of Faust: creator and destroyer "I came 
not to send peace, but a sword " The modern problem of 
choice between Scylla of world-renunciation and Charybdis 
of world-acceptance The ethical pose of The Hymn of 
Creation having failed, the unconscious projects a new 
attempt in the Moth-Song The choice, as in Faust The 
longing for the sun (or God) the same as that for the 
ship's officer Not the object, however: the longing is im- 
portant God is our own longing to which we pay divine 
honors The failure to replace by a real compensation the 
libido-object which is surrendered, produces regression to 
an earlier and discarded object A return to the infantile 
The use of the parent image It becomes synonymous with 
God, Sun, Fire Sun and snake Symbols of the libido 
gathered into the sun-symbol The tendency toward unity 
and toward multiplicity One God with many attributes: 
or many gods that are attributes of one Phallus and sun 
The sun-hero, the well-beloved Christ as sun-god " Moth 
and sun " then brings us to historic depths of the soul 
The sun-hero creative and destructive Hence: Moth and 
Flame: burning one's wings The destructiveness of being 
fruitful Wherefore the neurotic withdraws from the con- 
flict, committing a sort of self-murder Comparison with 
Byron's Heaven and Earth. 



A backward glance The sun the natural god Compari- 
son with libido Libido, " sun-energy " The sun-image as 
seen by the mystic in introversion The phallic symbol of 
the libido Faust's key Mythical heroes with phallic at- 
tributes These heroes personifications of the human libido 
and its typical fates A definition of the word " libido " 
Its etymological context. 




LIBIDO v ..... . 139 

A widening of the conception of libido New light from the 
study of paranoia The impossibility of restricting the con- 
ception of libido to the sexual A genetic definition The 
function of reality only partly sexual Yet this, and other 
functions, originally derivations from procreative impulse 
The process of transformation Libido, and the conception 
of will in general Examples in mythology The stages of 
the libido: its desexualized derivatives and differentiations 
Sublimation vs. repression Splittings off of the primal 
libido Application of genetic theory of libido to intro- 
version psychoses Replacing reality by archaic surrogates 
Desexualizing libido by means of phantastic analogy 
formations Possibly human consciousness brought to present 
state in this manner The importance of the little phrase: 
"Even as." 



An example of transition of the libido Act of boring with 
forefinger: an infantile presexual activity Similar activities 
in patient's early childhood Outcome in dementia praecox 
Its phantasies related to mythological products: a reproduc- 
tion of the creations of antiquity The freeing of libido 
from the nutritive to enter the sexual function The epoch 
of suckling and the epoch of displaced rhythmic activity 
These followed by the beginnings of onanistic attempts 
An obstacle in the sexual zone produces regression to a 
previous mode These regressions easier in earlier stages of 
humanity than now The ethnological phantasy of boring - 
Examples The production of fire Its sexual significance 
A substitute for coitus The invention of fire-making then 
due to the need of supplying a symbol for the sexual act 
The psychological compulsion for such transitions of the 
libido based on an original division of the will Regres- 
sion to incestuous Prohibition here sends incestuous com- 
ponent of libido back to pre-sexual Character of its ap- 
plication here The substitution of Mother-Earth for the 
parent Also of infantile boring Leading then to discovery 
of fire An example in Hindoo literature The sexual 
significance of the mouth Its other function: the mating call 
The regression which produced fire through boring also 
elaborated the mating call The beginnings of speech 
Example from the Hindoo Speech and fire the firstfruits 
of transformation of libido The fire-preparation regarded 
as forbidden, as robbery The forbidden thing onanism 
Onanism a cheating of sexuality of its purpose The cere- 
monial fire-production a substitute for the possibility of 
onanistic regression Thus a transformation of libido 




The cause of introversion The forward and backward 
flow of the libido The abnormal third The conflict rooted 
in the incest problem The " terrible mother " Miss Miller's 
introversion An internal conflict Its product of hypna- 
gogic vision and poem The uniformity of the unconscious in 
all men The unconscious the object of a true psychology 
The individual tendency with its production of the hero 
cult The love for the hero or god a love for the uncon- 
scious A turning back to the mother of humanity Such 
regressions act favorably within limits Miss Miller's men- 
tion of the Sphinx Theriomorphic representations of the 
libido Their tendency to represent father and mother 
The Sphinx represents the fear of the mother Miss 
Miller's mention of the Aztec Analysis of this figure The 
significance of the hand symbolically The Aztec a substi- 
tute for the Sphinx The name Chi-wan-to-pel The con- 
nection of the anal region with veneration Chiwantopel and 
Ahasver, the Wandering Jew The parallel with Chidher 
Heroes generating themselves through their own mothers 
Analogy with the Sun Setting and rising sun: Mithra and 
Helios, Christ and Peter, Dhulqarnein and Chidher The 
fish symbol The two Dadophores: the two thieves The 
mortal and immortal parts of man The Trinity taken from 
phallic symboli'sm Comparison of libido with phallus 
Analysis of libido symbolism always leads back to the 
mother incest The hero myth the myth of our own suffer- 
ing unconscious Faust. 


The crowd as symbol of mystery The city as symbol of 
the mother The motive of continuous " union " The 
typical journey of the sun-hero Examples A longing for 
rebirth through the mother The compulsion to symbolize 
the mother as City, Sea, Source, etc. The city as terrible 
mother and as holy mother The relation of the water- 
motive to rebirth Of the tree-motive Tree of life a 
mother-image The bisexual character of trees Such sym- 
bols to be understood psychologically, not anatomically 
The incestuous desire aims at becoming a child again, 
not at incest It evades incest by creating myths of symbolic 
rebirth The libido spiritualized through this use of sym- 
bols To be born of the spirit This compulsion toward 
symbolism brings a release of forces bound up in incest 
This process in Christianity Christianity with its repres- 
sion of the manifest sexual the negative of the ancient 
sexual cult The unconscious transformation of the incest 
wish into religious exercise does not meet the modern need 
A conscious method necessary, involving moral autonomy 
Replacing belief by understanding The history of the 
symbolism of trees The rise of the idea of the terrible 
mother a mask of the incest wish The myth of Osiris Re- 
lated examples The motive of " devouring " The Cross of 



Christ: tree of death and tree of life Lilith: the devouring 
mother The Lamias The conquering of the mother Snake 
and dragon: the resistance against incest The father rep- 
resents the active repulse of the incest wish of the son He 
frequently becomes the monster to be overcome by the hero 
The Mithraic sacrificing of the incest wish an overcoming of 
the mother A replacing of archaic overpowering by sac- 
rifice of the wish The crucified Christ an expression of 
this renunciation Other cross sacrifices Cross symbol 
possesses significance of "union" Child in mother's womb: 
or man and mother in union Conception of the soul a de- 
rivative of mother imago The power of incest prohibition 
created the self-conscious individual It was the coercion 
to domestication The further visions of Miss Miller. 



The appearance of the hero Chiwantopel on horseback 
Hero and horse equivalent of humanity and its repressed 
libido Horse a libido symbol, partly phallic, partly mater- 
nal, like the tree It represents the libido repressed through 
the incest prohibition The scene of Chiwantopel and the 
Indian Recalling Cassius and Brutus: also delirium of 
Cyrano Identification of Cassius with his mother His in- 
fantile disposition Miss Miller's hero also infantile Her 
visions arise from an infantile mother transference Her 
hero to die from an arrow wound The symbolism of the 
arrow The onslaught of unconscious desires The deadly 
arrows strike the hero from within It means the state of 
introversion A sinking back into the world of the child 
The danger of this regression It may mean annihilation 
or new life Examples of introversion The clash between 
the retrogressive tendency in the individual unconscious 
and the conscious forward strivingWilled introversion 
The unfulfilled sacrifice in the Miller phantasy means an 
attempt to renounce the mother: the conquest of a new life 
through the death of the old The hero Miss Miller herself. 


Chiwantopel's monologue His quest for the "one who 
understands " A quest for the mother Also for the life- 
companion The sexual element in the wish The battle 
for independence from the mother Its peril Miss Miller's 
use of Longfellow's Hiawatha An analysis of Hiawatha 
A typical hero of the libido The miraculous birth The 
hero's birth symbolic because it is really a rebirth from 
the mother-spouse The twofold mother which in Christian 
mythology becomes twofold birth The hero his own pro- 
creator Virgin conception a mask for incestuous impregna- 
tion Hiawatha's early life The identification of mother- 
nature with the mother The killing of a roebuck a con- 
quering of the parents He takes on their strength He 
goes forth to slay the father in order to possess the mother 



Minnehaha, the mother Hiawatha's introversion Hiding 
in the lap of nature really a return to the mother's womb 
The regression to the presexual revives the importance 
of nutrition The inner struggle with the mother, to over- 
power and impregnate her This fight against the longing 
for the mother brings new strength The Mondamin motive 
in other myths The Savior-hero the fruit of the entrance 
of the libido into the personal maternal depths This is 
to die, and be born again Hiawatha's struggle with the 
fish-monster A new deliverance from the mother And 
so again with Megissogwon, the Magician The hero must 
again and again conquer the mother Then follows his 
marriage with Minnehaha Other incidents, his death: the 
sinking of the sun in the west Miss Miller also reminded 
by Chiwantopel's longing of Wagner's Siegfried Analysis 
of the Siegfried myth The treasure-guarding dragon 
The dragon the son's repressed longing for the mother 
Symbolism of the cave The separation from the mother, the 
hero's conquering of the dragon The symbolism of the cup 
Drinking from the mother Cup of the blood of Christ 
The resultant mysterious union of man Profane interpre- 
tations of this mystery The phallic significance of the 
serpent The snake as representing the introverting libido 
Self-procreation: or creation of the world through intro- 
version The world thus an emanation of the libido The 
hero himself a serpent The psychoanalytic treatment of 
regression The hidden libido touched upon causes a strug- 
, gle: that is, the hero fights the fight with the treasure- 
guarding dragon The awakening of Brunhilda Siegfried 
finding his mother: a symbol of his own libido The con- 
quest of the terrible mother brings the love and life- 
giving mother. 


Miss Miller's vision again The paradoxical striving 
of the libido away from the mother toward the mother 
The destroying mother becomes beneficent on being con- 
quered Chiwantopel a hero of words, not deeds He has 
not that will to live which breaks the magic circle of the 
incestuous His identification with the author, and her 
wish for the parents The end is the devouring of the 
daughter's libido by the mother Sexuality of the uncon- 
scious merely a symbol Idle dreaming the mother of the 
fear of death This downward path in the poetry of Hol- 
derlin The estrangement from reality, the introversion 
leading to death The necessity of freeing libido for a 
complete devotion to life Otherwise bound by unconscious 
compulsion: Fate Sublimation through voluntary work 
Creati'on of the world through cosmic sacrifice Man dis- 
covers the world when he sacrifices the mother The incest 
barrier as the producer of thought Budding sexuality 
drawing the individual from the family The mind dawns 
at the moment the child begins to be free of the mother 



He seeks to win the world, and leave the mother Childish 
regression to the presexual brings archaic phantasies The 
incest problem not physical, but psychological Sacrifice of 
of the horse: sacrifice of the animal nature The sacrifice 
of the " mother libido " : of the son to the mother Su- 
periority of Christian symbol: the sacrifice, not only of 
lower nature, but the whole personality Miss Miller's 
phantasy passes from sacrifice of the sexual, to sacrifice of 
the infantile personality Problem of psychoanalysis, ex- 
pressed mythologically, the sacrifice and rebirth of the 
infantile hero The libido wills the destruction of its 
creation: horse and serpent The end of the hero by means 
of earthquake The one who understands him is the 

" Therefore theory, which gives to facts their value and sig- 
nificance, is often very useful, even if it is partially false, for it 
throws light on phenomena which no one observed, it forces an 
examination, from many angles, of facts which no one had hitherto 
studied, and it gives the impulse for more extended and more pro- 
ductive researches. 

" It is, therefore, a moral duty for the man of science to expose 
himself to the risk of committing error and to submit to criticism, 
in order that science may continue to progress. A writer has 
attacked the author for this very severely, saying, here is a scientific 
ideal very limited and very paltry. But those who are endowed 
with a mind sufficiently serious and impersonal as not to believe 
that all that they write is the expression of truth absolute and 
eternal, approve of this theory which places the aims of science well 
above the miserable vanity and paltry ' amour propre ' of the 
Les Lois Psychologiques du Symbolisms 1895. Preface, p. <viii. 



ANY ONE who can read Freud's " Interpretation of the 
Dream " without scientific rebellion at the newness and 
apparently unjustified daring of its analytical presenta- 
tion, and without moral indignation at the astonishing 
nudity of the dream interpretation, and who can allow 
this unusual array of facts to influence his mind calmly 
and without prejudice, will surely be deeply impressed at 
that place where Freud calls to mind the fact that 
an individual psychologic conflict, namely, the Incest 
Phantasy, is the essential root of that powerful ancient 
dramatic material, the Oedipus legend. The impression 
made by this simple reference may be likened to that 
wholly peculiar feeling which arises in us if, for example, 
in the noise and tumult of a modern street we should 
come across an ancient relic the Corinthian capital of a 
walled-in column, or a fragment of inscription. Just a 
moment ago we were given over to the noisy ephemeral 
life of the present, when something very far away and 
strange appears to us, which turns our attention to things 
of another order; a glimpse away from the incoherent 
multiplicity of the present to a higher coherence in his- 
tory. Very likely it would suddenly occur to us that on 
this spot where we now run busily to and fro a similar 
life and activity prevailed two thousand years ago in 



somewhat other forms ; similar passions moved mankind, 
and man was likewise convinced of the uniqueness of his 
existence. I would liken the impression which the first 
acquaintance with the monuments of antiquity so easily 
leaves behind to that impression which Freud's reference 
to the Oedipus legend makes for while we are still en- 
gaged with the confusing impressions of the variability of 
the Individual Soul, suddenly there is opened a revelation 
of the simple greatness of the Oedipus tragedy that 
never extinguished light of the Grecian theatre. 

This breadth of outlook carries in itself something of 
revelation. For us, the ancient psychology has long since 
been buried among the shadows of the past; in the school- 
room one could scarcely repress a sceptical smile when 
one indiscreetly reckoned the comfortable matronly age 
of Penelope and the age of Jocasta, and comically com- 
pared the result of the reckoning with the tragic-erotic 
struggles in the legend and drama. We did not know at 
that time (and who knows even today?) that the mother 
can be the all-consuming passion of the son, which per- 
haps undermines his whole life and tragically destroys 
it, so that not even the magnitude of the Oedipus Fate 
seems one jot overdrawn. Rare and pathologically under- 
stood cases like Ninon de Lenclos and her son * lie too 
far removed from most of us to give a living impression. 
But when we follow the paths traced out by Freud, we 
arrive at a recognition of the present existence of such 
possibilities, which, although they are too weak to en- 
force incest, are still strong enough to cause disturbances 
of considerable magnitude in the soul. The admission 


of such possibilities to one's self does not occur without a 
great burst of moral revulsion. Resistances arise which 
only too easily dazzle the intellect, and, through that, 
make knowledge of self impossible. Whenever we suc- 
ceed, however, in stripping feelings from more scientific 
knowledge, then that abyss which separates our age from 
the antique is bridged, and, with astonishment, we see 
that Oedipus is still a living thing for us. The importance 
of such an impression should not be undervalued. We 
are taught by this insight that there is an identity of 
elementary human conflicts existing independent of time 
and place. That which affected the Greeks with horror 
still remains true, but it is true for us only when we give 
up a vain illusion that we are different that is to say, 
more moral, than the ancients. We of the present day 
have nearly succeeded in forgetting that an indissoluble 
common bond binds us to the people of antiquity. With 
this truth a path is opened to the understanding of the 
ancient mind; an understanding which so far has not 
existed, and, on one side, leads to an inner sympathy, and, 
on the other side, to an intellectual comprehension. 
Through buried strata of the individual soul we come 
indirectly into possession of the living mind of the ancient 
culture, and, just precisely through that, do we win that 
stable point of view outside our own culture, from which, 
for the first time, an objective understanding of their 
mechanisms would be possible. At least that is the hope 
which we get from the rediscovery of the Oedipus 

The enquiry made possible by Freud's work has al- 


ready resulted fruitfully ; we are indebted to this stimula- 
tion for some bold attacks upon the territory of the 
history of the human mind. There are the works of 
Riklin, 2 Abraham, 3 Rank, 4 Maeder, 5 Jones, 6 recently 
Silberer has joined their ranks with a beautiful investiga- 
tion entitled " Phantasie und Mythus." 7 We are in- 
debted to Pfister 8 for a comprehensive work which 
cannot be overlooked here, and which is of much impor- 
tance for Christian religious psychology. The leading 
purpose of these works is the unlocking of historical 
problems through the application of psychoanalytic 
knowledge; that is to say, knowledge drawn from the 
activity of the modern unconscious mind concerning spe- 
cific historical material. 

I must refer the reader entirely to the specified works, 
in order that he may gain information concerning the 
extent and the kind of insight which has already been 
obtained. The explanations are in many cases dubious 
in particulars; nevertheless, this detracts in no way from 
the total result. It would be significant enough if only 
the far-reaching analogy between the psychologic struc- 
ture of the historical relics and the structure of the recent 
individual psychologic products alone were demonstrated. 
This proof is possible of attainment for every intelligent 
person through the work done up to this time. The 
analogy prevails especially in symbolism, as Riklin, Rank, 
Maeder, and Abraham have pointed out with illuminat- 
ing examples; it is also shown in the individual mechan- 
isms of unconscious work, that is to say in repression, 
condensation, etc., as Abraham explicitly shows. 


Up to the present time the psychoanalytic investigator 
has turned his interest chiefly to the analysis of the indi- 
vidual psychologic problems. It seems to me, however, 
that in the present state of affairs there is a more or less 
imperative demand for the psychoanalyst to broaden 
the analysis of the individual problems by a comparative 
study of historical material relating to them, just as 
Freud has already done in a masterly manner in his book 
on u Leonardo da Vinci/' 9 For, just as the psycho- 
analytic conceptions promote understanding of the his- 
toric psychologic creations, so reversedly historical mate- 
rials can shed new light upon individual psychologic 
problems. These and similar considerations have caused 
me to turn my attention somewhat more to the historical, 
in the hope that, out of this, new insight into the founda- 
tions of individual psychology might be won. 



IT is a well-known fact that one of the principles of 
analytic psychology is that the dream images are to be 
understood symbolically; that is to say, that they are not 
to be taken literally just as they are presented in sleep, 
but that behind them a hidden meaning has to be sur- 
mised. It is this ancient idea of a dream symbolism which 
has challenged not only criticism, but, in addition to that, 
the strongest opposition. That dreams may be full of 
import, and, therefore, something to be interpreted, is cer- 
tainly neither a strange nor an extraordinary idea. This 
has been familiar to mankind for thousands of years, and, 
therefore, seems much like a banal truth. The dream 
interpretations of the Egyptians and Chaldeans, and the 
story of Joseph who interpreted Pharaoh's dreams, are 
known to every one, and the dream book of Artemidorus 
is also familiar. From countless inscribed monuments of 
all times and peoples we learn of foreboding dreams, of 
significant, of prophetic and also of curative dreams 
which the Deity sent to the sick, sleeping in the temple. 
We know the dream of the mother of Augustus, who 
dreamt she was to be with child by the Deity trans- 
formed into a snake. We will not heap up references 
and examples to bear witness to the existence of a belief 


in the symbolism of dreams. When an idea is so old, 
and is so generally believed, it is probably true in some 
way, and, indeed, as is mostly the case, is not literally 
true, but is true psychologically. In this distinction lies 
the reason why the old fogies of science have from time 
to time thrown away an inherited piece of ancient truth; 
because it was not literal but psychologic truth. For such 
discrimination this type of person has at no time had any 

From our experience, it is hardly conceivable that a 
God existing outside of ourselves causes dreams, or that 
the dream, eo ipso, foresees the future prophetically. 
When we translate this into the psychologic, however, 
then the ancient theories sound much more reconcilable, 
namely, the dream arises from a part of the mind un- 
known to us, but none the less important, and is concerned 
with the desires for the approaching day. This psycho- 
logic formula derived from the ancient superstitious con- 
ception of dreams, is, so to speak, exactly identified 
with the Freudian psychology, which assumes a ris- 
ing wish from the unconscious to be the source of the 

As the old belief teaches, the Deity or the Demon 
speaks in symbolic speech to the sleeper, and the dream 
interpreter has the riddle to solve. In modern speech we 
say this means that the dream is a series of images, which 
are apparently contradictory and nonsensical, but arise in 
reality from psychologic material which yields a clear 

Were I to suppose among my readers a far-reaching 


ignorance of dream analysis, then I should be obliged to 
illustrate this statement with numerous examples. 
Today, however, these things are quite well known, so 
that one must proceed carefully with every-day dream 
material, out of consideration for a public educated in 
these matters. It is a special inconvenience that no dream 
can be recounted without being obliged to add to it half 
a life's history which affords the individual foundations 
of the dream, but there are some few typical dreams 
which can be told without too great a ballast. One of 
these is the dream of the sexual assault, which is especially 
prevalent among women. A girl sleeping after an even- 
ing happily spent in dancing, dreams that a robber breaks 
open her door noisily and stabs through her body 
with a lance. This theme, which explains itself, has 
countless variations, some simple, some complicated. 
Instead of the lance it is a sword, a dagger, a revolver, 
a gun, a cannon, a hydrant, a watering pot; or the assault 
is a burglary, a pursuit, a robbery, or it is some one 
hidden in the closet or under the bed. Or the danger 
may be illustrated by wild animals; for instance, a horse 
which throws the dreamer to the ground and kicks her in 
the body with his hind foot; lions, tigers, elephants with 
threatening trunks, and finally snakes in endless variety. 
Sometimes the snake creeps into the mouth, sometimes 
it bites the breast like Cleopatra's legendary asp, some- 
times it comes in the role of the paradisical snake, or in 
the variations of Franz Stuck, whose pictures of snakes 
bear the significant titles " Vice," " Sin," " Lust." The 
mixture of lust and anxiety is expressed incomparably in 


the very atmosphere of these pictures, and far more 
brutally, indeed, than in Morike's charming poem. 

The Maiden's First Love Song 

What's in the net ? 


But I am afraid, 
Do I grasp a sweet eel, 
Do I seize a snake? 

Love is a blind 

Fisherwoman ; 

Tell the child 

Where to seize. 
Already it leaps in my hands. 

Oh, Pity, or delight! 
With nestlings and turnings 

It coils on my breast, 

It bites me, oh, wonder! 

Boldly through the skin, 

It darts under my heart. 
Oh, Love, I shudder! 

What can I do, what can I begin ? 
That shuddering thing; 
There it crackles within 
And coils in a ring. 
It must be poisoned. 
Here it crawls around. 
Blissfully I feel as it worms 
Itself into my soul 
And kills me finally. 

All these things are simple, and need no explanation 
to be intelligible. Somewhat more complicated, but still 


unmistakable, is the dream of a woman; she sees the 
triumphal arch of Constantine. A cannon stands before 
it, to the right of it a bird, to the left a man. A shot 
flashes out of the tube; the projectile hits her; it goes 
into her pocket, into her purse. There it remains, and 
she holds her purse as if something very precious were 
in it. The image disappears, and she continues to see 
only the stock of the cannon, and over that Constantine's 
motto, " In hoc signo vinces." 

These few references to the symbolic nature of dreams 
are perhaps sufficient. For whomsoever the proof may 
appear insufficient, and it is certainly insufficient for a 
beginner, further evidence may be found in the funda- 
mental work of Freud, and in the works of Stekel and 
Rank which are fuller in certain particulars. We must 
assume here that the dream symbolism is an established 
fact, in order to bring to our study a mind suitably pre- 
pared for an appreciation of this work. We would not 
be successful if we, on the contrary, were to be astonished 
at the idea that an intellectual image can be projected 
into our conscious psychic activity; an image which ap- 
parently obeys such wholly other laws and purposes than 
those governing the conscious psychic product. 

fWhy are dreams symbolic? Every " why " in psychol- 
Dgy is divided into two separate questions : first, for what 
purpose are dreams symbolic? We will answer this 
question only to abandon it at once. Dreams are symbolic 
in order that they can not be understood; in order that 
the wish, which is the source of the dream, may remain 
unknown. The question why this is so and not otherwise, 


leads us out into the far-reaching experiences and trains 
of thought of the Freudian psychology. 

Here the second question interests us, viz., How is it 
that dreams are symbolic? That is to say, from where 
does this capacity for symbolic representation come, of 
which we, in our conscious daily life, can discover ap- 
parently no traces? 

Let us examine this more closely. Can we really dis- 
cover nothing symbolic in our every-day thought? Let 
us follow our trains of thought; let us take an example. 
We think of the war of 1870 and 1871. We think about 
a series of bloody battles, the siege of Strassburg, Bel- 
fort, Paris, the Treaty of Peace, the foundation of the 
German Empire, and so on. How have we been think- 
ing? We start with an idea, or super-idea, as it is also 
called, and without thinking of it, but each time merely 
guided by a feeling of direction, we think about individual 
reminiscences of the war. In this we can find nothing 
symbolic, and our whole conscious thinking proceeds ac- 
cording to this type. 1 

If we observe our thinking very narrowly, and follow 
an intensive train of thought, as, for example, the solu- 
tion of a difficult problem, then suddenly we notice that 
we are thinking in words, that in wholly intensive think- 
ing we begin to speak to ourselves, or that we occasionally 
write down the problem, or make a drawing of it so as to 
be absolutely clear. It must certainly have happened 
to any one who has lived for some time in a foreign 
country, that after a certain period he has begun to think 
in the language of the country. A very intensive train 


of thinking works itself out more or less in word form; 
that is, if one wants to express it, to teach it, or to con- 
vince any one of it. Evidently it directs itself wholly to 
the outside world. To this extent, this directed or logical 
thinking is a reality thinking, 2 having a real existence for 
us; that is to say, a thinking which adjusts itself to actual 
conditions, 3 where we, expressed in other words, imitate 
the succession of objectively real things, so that the 
images in our mind follow after each other in the same 
strictly causal succession as the historical events outside 
of our mind. 4 

We call this thinking, thinking with directed attention. 
It has, in addition, the peculiarity that one is tired by it, 
and that, on this account, it is set into action only for a 
time. Our whole vital accomplishment, which is so ex- 
pensive, is adaptation to environment; a part of it is the 
directed thinking, which, biologically expressed, is noth- 
ing but a process of psychic assimilation, which, as in 
every vital accomplishment, leaves behind a correspond- 
ing exhaustion. 

The material with which we think is language and 
speech concept, a thing which has been used from time 
immemorial as something external, a bridge for thought, 
and which has a single purpose that of communication. 
As long as we think directedly, we think for others and 
speak to others. 5 

Speech is originally a system of emotional and imita- 
tive sounds sounds which express terror, fear, anger, 
love ; and sounds which imitate the noises of the elements, 
the rushing and gurgling of water, the rolling of thunder, 


the tumults of the winds, the tones of the animal world, 
and so on; and, finally, those which represent a combina- 
tion of the sounds of perception and of affective reaction. 6 
Likewise in the more or less modern languages, large 
quantities of onomatopoetic relics are retained; for ex- 
ample, sounds for the movement of water, 

Rauschen, risseln, riischen, rinnen, rennen, to rush, ruscello, 
ruisseau, riyer, Rhein. 

Wasser, wissen, wissern, pissen, piscis, fisch. 

Thus language is orginally and essentially nothing but 
a system of signs or symbols, which denote real occur- 
rences, or their echo in the human soul. 

Therefore one must decidedly agree with Anatole 
France, 7 when he says, 

"What is thought, and how do we think? We think with 
words; that alone is sensual and brings us back to nature. Think 
of it! The metaphysician has only the perfected cry of monkeys 
and dogs with which to construct the system of the world. That 
which he calls profound speculation and transcendent method is 
to put end to end in an arbitrary order the natural sounds which 
cry out hunger, fear, and love in the primitive forests, and to 
which were attached little by little the meanings which one be- 
lieved to be abstract, when they were only crude. 

" Do not fear that the succession of small cries, feeble and 
stifled, which compose a book of philosophy, will teach us so 
much regarding the universe, that we can live in it no longer." 

Thus is our directed thinking, and even if we were the 
loneliest and furthest removed from our fellows, this 
thinking is nothing but the first notes of a long-drawn- 
out call to our companions that water had been found, 


that we had killed the bear, that a storm was approach- 
ing, or that wolves were prowling around the camp. A 
striking paradox of Abelard's which expresses in a very 
intuitive way the whole human limitation of our compli- 
cated thinking process, reads, " Sermo generatur ab 
intellectu et general intellectum" * 

Any system of philosophy, no matter how abstract, 
represents in means and purpose nothing more than an 
extremely cleverly developed combination of original 
nature sounds. 8 Hence arises the desire of a Schopen- 
hauer or a Nietzsche for recognition and understanding, 
and the despair and bitterness of their loneliness. One 
might expect, perhaps, that a man full of genius could 
pasture in the greatness of his own thoughts, and re- 
nounce the cheap approbation of the crowd which he 
despises; yet he succumbs to the more powerful impulse 
of the herd instinct. His searching and his finding, his 
call, belong to the herd. 

When I said just now that directed thinking is properly 
a thinking with words, and quoted that clever testimony 
of Anatole France as drastic proof of it, a misunder- 
standing might easily arise, namely, that directed thinking 
is really only " word." That certainly would go too far. 
Language should, however, be comprehended in a wider 
sense than that of speech, which is in itself only the ex- 
pression of the formulated thought which is capable of 
being communicated in the widest sense. Otherwise, the 
deaf mute would be limited to the utmost in his capacity 
for thinking, which is not the case in reality. Without 

* Speech is generated by the intellect and in turn generates intellect. 


any knowledge of- the spoken word, he has his 
" language." This language, considered from the stand- 
point of history, or in other words, directed thinking, 
is here a descendant of the primitive words, as, for in- 
stance, Wundt 9 expresses it. 

" A further important result of that co-operation of sound and 
sign interchange consists in the fact that very many words gradu- 
ally lose altogether their original concrete thought meaning, and 
turn into signs for general ideas and for the expression of the 
apperceptive functions of relation and comparison and their 
products. In this manner abstract thought develops, which, because 
it would not be possible without the change of meaning lying at 
the root of it, is indeed a production of that psychic and psycho- 
physical reciprocal action out of which the development of language 
takes place." 

Jodl 10 denies the identity of language and thought, 
because, for one reason, one and the same psychic fact 
might be expressed in different languages in different 
ways. From that he draws the conclusion that a u super- 
language thinking " exists. Certainly there is such a thing, 
whether with Erdmann one considers it " hypologisch," 
or with Jodl as " super-language." Only this is not 
logical thinking. My conception of it agrees with the 
noteworthy contribution made by Baldwin, which I will 
quote here word for word. 11 

" The transmission from pre- judgmental to judgmental mean- 
ing is just that from knowledge which has social confirmation 
to that which gets along without it. The meanings utilized for 
judgment are those already developed in their presuppositions 
and applications through the confirmation of social intercourse. 
Thus, the personal judgment, trained in the methods of social 


rendering, and disciplined by the interaction of its social world, 
projects its content into that world again. In other words, the 
platform for all movement into the assertion of individual judg- 
ment the level from which new experience is utilized is already 
and always socialized; and it is just this movement that we find 
reflected in the actual results as the sense of the ' appropriateness ' 
or synomic character of the meaning rendered. 

" Now the development of thought, as we are to see in more 
detail, is by a method essentially of trial and error, of experi- 
mentation, of the use of meanings as worth more than they are as 
yet recognized to be worth. The individual must use his own 
thoughts, his established knowledges, his grounded judgments, for 
the embodiment of his new inventive constructions. He erects 
his thought as we say ' schematically ' in logic terms, ' prob- 
lematically,' conditionally, disjunctively; projecting into the 
world an opinion still peculiar to himself, as if it were true. Thus 
all discovery proceeds. But this is, from -the linguistic point of 
view, still to use the current language, still to work by meanings 
already embodied in social and conventional usage. 

" Language grows, therefore, just as thought does, by never 
losing its synomic or dual reference; its meaning is both personal 
and social. 

" It is the register of tradition, the record of racial conquest, 
the deposit of all the gains made by the genius of individuals 
. . . The social copy-system, thus established, reflects the 
judgmental processes of the race, and in turn becomes the 
training school of the judgment of new generations. 

" Most of the training of the self, whereby the vagaries of 
personal reaction to fact and image are reduced to the basis of 
sound judgment, comes through the use of speech. When the 
child speaks, he lays before the world his suggestion for a general 
or common meaning. . The reception he gets confirms or refutes 
him. In either case he is instructed. His next venture is now 
from a platform of knowledge on which the newer item is more 
nearly convertible into the common coin of effective intercourse. 
The point to notice here is not so much the exact mechanism of 
the exchange secondary conversion by which this gain is made, 


as the training in judgment that the constant use of it affords. 
In each case, effective judgment is the common judgment. 

"Here the object is to point out that it is secured by the 
development of a function whose rise is directly ad hoc, directly 
for the social experimentation by which growth in personal com- 
petence is advanced as well the function of speech. 

" In language, therefore, to sum up the foregoing, we have the 
tangible the actual the historical instrument of the develop- 
ment and conservation of psychic meaning. It is the material 
evidence and proof of the concurrence of social and personal judg- 
ment. In it synomic meaning, judged as ' appropriate,' becomes 
1 social ' meaning, held as socially generalized and acknowledged." 

These arguments of Baldwin abundantly emphasize 
the wide-reaching limitations of thinking caused by 
language. 12 These limitations are of the greatest signifi- 
cance, both subjectively and objectively; at least their 
meaning is great enough to force one to ask one's self if, 
after all, in regard to independence of thought, Franz 
Mauthner, thoroughly sceptical, is not really correct in 
his view that thinking is speech and nothing more. 
Baldwin expresses himself more cautiously and reserv- 
edly; nevertheless, his inner meaning is plainly in favor 
of the primacy of speech (naturally not in the sense of 
the spoken word) ; the directed thinking, or as we might 
perhaps call it, the thinking in internal speech, is the 
manifest instrument of culture, and we do not go astray 
when we say that the powerful work of education which 
the centuries have given to directed thinking has pro- 
duced, just through the peculiar development of thinking 
from the individual subjective into the social objective, a 
practical application of the human mind to which we owe 


modern empiricism and technic, and which occurs for ab- 
solutely the first time in the history of the world. Inquisi- 
tive minds have often tormented themselves with the 
question why the undoubtedly extraordinary knowledge 
of mathematics and principles and material facts 
united with the unexampled art of the human hand in 
antiquity never arrived at the point of developing those 
known technical statements of fact, for instance, the 
principles of simple machines, beyond the realm of the 
amusing and curious to a real technic in the modern sense. 
There is necessarily only one answer to this; the ancients 
almost entirely, with the exception of a few extraordinary 
minds, lacked the capacity to allow their interest to 
follow the transformations of inanimate matter to the 
extent necessary for them to be able to reproduce the 
process of nature, creatively and through their own art, 
by means of which alone they could have succeeded in 
putting themselves in possession of the force of nature. 
That which they lacked was training in directed thinking, 
or, to express it psychoanalytically, the ancients did not 
succeed in tearing loose the libido which might be subli- 
mated, from the other natural relations, and did not 
turn voluntarily to anthropomorphism. The secret of 
the development of culture lies in the mobility of the 
libido, and in its capacity for transference. It is, there- 
fore, to be assumed that the directed thinking of our time 
is a more or less modern acquisition, which was lacking 
in earlier times. 

But with that we come to a further question, viz., what 
happens if we do not think directedly ? Then our thinking 


lacks the major idea, and the feeling of direction which 
emanates from that. 13 We no longer compel our 
thoughts along a definite track, but let them float, sink 
and mount according to their own gravity. According 
to Kulpe 14 thinking is a kind of inner will action, the 
absence of which necessarily leads to an automatic play 
of ideas. James understands the non-directed thinking, 
or " merely associative " thinking, as the ordinary one. 
He expresses himself about that in the following 
manner : 

" Our thought consists for the great part of a series of images, 
one of which produces the other; a sort of passive dream-state of 
which the higher animals are also capable. This sort of thinking 
leads, nevertheless, to reasonable conclusions of a practical as well 
as of a theoretical nature. 

" As a rule, the links of this sort of irresponsible thinking, 
which are accidentally bound together, are empirically concrete 
things, not abstractions." 

We can, in the following manner, complete these defi- 
nitions of William James. This sort of thinking does 
not tire us; it quickly leads us away from reality into 
phantasies of the past and future. Here, thinking in the 
form of speech ceases, image crowds upon image, feel- 
ing upon feeling; more and more clearly one sees a 
tendency which creates and makes believe, not as it truly 
is, but as one indeed might wish it to be. 15 The material 
of these thoughts which turns away from reality, can 
naturally be only the past with its thousand memory pic- 
tures. The customary speech calls this kind of thinking 
" dreaming." 


Whoever attentively observes himself will find the 
general custom of speech very striking, for almost every 
day we can see for ourselves how, when falling asleep, 
phantasies are woven into our dreams, so that between 
the dreams of day and night there is not so great a 
difference. Thus we have two forms of thinking 
directed thinking and dream or phantasy thinking. The 
first, working for communication with speech elements, 
is troublesome and exhausting; the latter, on the contrary, 
goes on without trouble, working spontaneously, so to 
speak, with reminiscences. The first creates innovations, 
adaptations, imitates reality and seeks to act upon it. 
The latter, on the contrary, turns away from reality, sets 
free subjective wishes, and is, in regard to adaptation, 
wholly unproductive. 16 

Let us leave aside the query as to why we possess these 
two different ways of thinking, and turn back to the 
second proposition, namely, how comes it that we have 
two different ways of thinking? I have intimated above 
that history shows us that directed thinking was not 
always as developed as it is at present. In this age the 
most beautiful expression of directed thinking is science, 
and the technic fostered by it. Both things are indebted 
for their existence simply to an energetic education in 
directed thinking. At the time, however, when a few 
forerunners of the present culture, like the poet Petrarch, 
first began to appreciate Nature understandingly 17 there 
was already in existence an equivalent for our science, to 
wit, scholasticism. 18 This took its objects from the phan- 
tasies of the past, and it gave to the mind a dialectic 


training in directed thinking. The only success which 
beckoned the thinker was rhetorical victory in disputa- 
tion, and not a visible transformation of reality. 

The subjects of thinking were often astonishingly 
phantastical; for example, questions were discussed, such 
as how many angels could have a place on the point of 
a needle? Whether Christ could have done his work 
of redemption equally well if he had come into the 
world as a pea? The possibility of such problems, to 
which belong the metaphysical problems in general, viz., 
to be able to know the unknowable, shows us of what 
peculiar kind that mind must have been which created 
such things which to us are the height of absurdity. 
Nietzsche had guessed, however, at the biological back- 
ground of this phenomenon when he spoke of the " beau- 
tiful tension " of the Germanic mind which the Middle 
Ages created. Taken historically, scholasticism, in the 
spirit of which persons of towering intellectual powers, 
such as Thomas of Aquinas, Duns Scotus, Abelard, Wil- 
liam of Occam and others, have labored, is the mother of 
the modern scientific attitude, and a later time will see 
clearly how and in what scholasticism still furnishes 
living undercurrents to the science of today. Its whole 
nature lies in dialectic gymnastics which have raised the 
symbol of speech, the word, to an almost absolute mean- 
ing, so that it finally attained to that substantiality which 
expiring antiquity could lend to its logos only temporarily, 
through attributes of mystical valuation. The great 
work of scholasticism, however, appears to be the founda- 
tion of firmly knitted intellectual sublimation, the conditio 


sine qua non of the modern scientific and technical 

Should we go further back into history, we shall find 
that which today we call science, dissolved into an indis- 
tinct cloud. The modern culture-creating mind is inces- 
santly occupied in stripping off all subjectivity from ex- 
perience, and in finding those formulas which bring 
Nature and her forces to the best and most fitting expres- 
sion. It would be an absurd and entirely unjustified self- 
glorification if we were to assume that we are more 
energetic or more intelligent than the ancients our 
materials for knowledge have increased, but not our in- 
tellectual capacity. For this reason, we become imme- 
diately as obstinate and insusceptible in regard to new 
ideas as people in the darkest times of antiquity. Our 
knowledge has increased but not our wisdom. The main 
point of our interest is displaced wholly into material 
reality; antiquity preferred a mode of thought which was 
more closely related to a phantastic type. Except for a 
sensitive perspicuity towards works of art, not attained 
since then, we seek in vain in antiquity for that precise 
and concrete manner of thinking characteristic of modern 
science. We see the antique spirit create not science but 
mythology. Unfortunately, we acquire in school only 
a very paltry conception of the richness and immense 
power of life of Grecian mythology. 

Therefore, at first glance, it does not seem possible for 
us to assume that that energy and interest which today 
we put into science and technic, the man of antiquity gave 
in great part to his mythology. That, nevertheless, gives 


the explanation for the bewildering changes, the kaleido- 
scopic transformations and new syncretistic groupings, 
and the continued rejuvenation of the myths in the 
Grecian sphere of culture. Here, we move in a world 
of phantasies, which, little concerned with the outer 
course of things, flows from an inner source, and, con- 
stantly changing, creates now plastic, now shadowy 
shapes. This phantastical activity of the ancient mind 
created artistically par excellence. The object of the in- 
terest does not seem to have been to grasp hold of the 
" how " of the real world as objectively and exactly as 
possibly, but to aesthetically adapt subjective phantasies 
and expectations. There was very little place among 
ancient people for the coldness and disillusion which 
Giordano Bruno's thoughts on eternity and Kepler's dis- 
coveries brought to modern humanity. The naive man 
of antiquity saw in the sun the great Father of the heaven 
and the earth, and in the moon the fruitful good Mother. 
Everything had its demons; they animated equally a 
human being and his brother, the animal. Everything 
was considered according to its anthropomorphic or 
theriomorphic attributes, as human being or animal. 
Even the disc of the sun was given wings or four feet, 
in order to illustrate its movement. Thus arose an idea 
of the universe which was not only very far from reality, 
but was one which corresponded wholly to subjective 

We know, from our own experience, this state of mind. 
It is an infantile stage. To a child the moon is a man or 
a face or a shepherd of the stars. The clouds in the sky 


seem like little sheep; the dolls drink, eat and sleep; the 
child places a letter at the window for the Christ-child; 
he calls to the stork to bring him a little brother or 
sister; the cow is the wife of the horse, and the dog the 
husband of the cat. We know, too, that lower races, like 
the negroes, look upon the locomotive as an animal, and 
call the drawers of the table the child of the table. 

As we learn through Freud, the dream shows a similar 
type. Since the dream is unconcerned with the real condi- 
tion of things, it brings the most heterogeneous matter 
together, and a world of impossibilities takes the place 
of realities. Freud finds progression characteristic of 
thinking when awake ; that is to say, the advancement of 
the thought excitation from the system of the inner or 
outer perception through the " endopsychic " work of 
association, conscious and unconscious, to the motor end; 
that is to say, towards innervation. In the dream he finds 
the reverse, namely, regression of the thought excitation 
from the pre-conscious or unconscious to the system of 
perception, by the means of which the dream receives 
its ordinary impression of sensuous distinctness, which 
can rise to an almost hallucinating clearness. The dream 
thinking moves in a retrograde manner towards the raw 
material of memory. " The structure of the dream 
thoughts is dissolved during the progress of regression 
into its raw material." The reanimation of the original 
perception is, however, only one side of regression. The 
other side is regression to the infantile memory material, 
which might also be understood as regression to the 
original perception, but which deserves especial mention 


on account of its independent importance. This regres- 
sion might, indeed, be considered as " historical." The 
dream, according to this conception, might also be de- 
scribed as the substitute of the infantile scene, changed 
through transference into the recent scene. 

The infantile scene cannot carry through its revival; 
it must be satisfied with its return as a dream. From 
this conception of the historical side of regression, it fol- 
lows consequently that the modes of conclusion of the 
dream, in so far as one may speak of them, must show 
at the same time an analogous and infantile character. 
This is truly the case, as experience has abundantly 
shown, so that today every one who is familiar with the 
subject of dream analysis confirms Freud's proposition 
that dreams are a piece of the conquered life of the 
childish soul. Inasmuch as the childish psychic life is 
undeniably of an archaic type, this characteristic belongs 
to the dream in quite an unusual degree. Freud calls our 
attention to this especially. 

" The dream, which fulfils its wishes by a short, regressive 
path, affords us only an example of the primary method of work- 
ing of the psychic apparatus, which has been abandoned by us as 
unsuitable. That which once ruled in the waking state, when the 
psychical life was still young and impotent, appears to be banished 
to the dream life, in somewhat the same way as the bow and 
arrow, those discarded, primitive weapons of adult humanity, have 
been relegated to the nursery." 19 

All this experience suggests to us that we draw a 
parallel between the phantastical, mythological thinking 
of antiquity and the similar thinking of children, between 


the lower human races and dreams. 20 This train of 
thought is not a strange one for us, but quite familiar 
through our knowledge of comparative anatomy and the 
history of development, which show us how the structure 
and function of the human body are the results of a series 
of embryonic changes which correspond to similar 
changes in the history of the race. Therefore, the sup- 
position is justified that ontogenesis corresponds in 
psychology to phylogenesis. Consequently, it would 
be true, as well, that the state of infantile thinking in the 
child's psychic life, as well as in dreams, is nothing but a 
re-echo of the prehistoric and the ancient. 21 

In regard to this, Nietzsche takes a very broad and re- 
markable standpoint. 22 

" In our sleep and in our dreams we pass through the whole 
thought of earlier humanity. I mean, in the same way that man 
reasons in his dreams, he reasoned when in the waking state many 
thousands of years. The first causa which occurred to his mind in 
reference to anything that needed explanation, satisfied him and 
passed for truth. In the dream this atavistic relic of humanity 
manifests its existence within us, for it is the foundation upon 
which the higher rational faculty developed, and which is still 
developing in every individual. The dream carries us back into 
earlier states of human culture, and affords us a means of under- 
standing it better. The dream thought is so easy to us now, 
because we are so thoroughly trained to it through the interminable 
stages of evolution during which this phantastic and facile form 
of theorizing has prevailed. To a certain extent the dream is 
a restorative for the brain, which during the day is called upon 
to meet the severe demands for trained thought, made by the 
conditions of a higher civilization. 

" From these facts, we can understand how lately more acute 
logical thinking, the taking seriously of cause and effect, has been 


developed ; when our functions of reason and intelligence still reach 
back involuntarily to those primitive forms of conclusion, and we 
live about half our lives in this condition." 

We have already seen that Freud, independently of 
Nietzsche, has reached a similar standpoint from the 
basis of dream analysis. The step from this established 
proposition to the perception of the myths as familiar 
dream images is no longer a great one. Freud has formu- 
lated this conclusion himself. 23 

" The investigation of this folk-psychologic formation, myths, 
etc., is by no means finished at present. To take an example of 
this, however, it is probable that the myths correspond to the 
distorted residue of wish phantasies of whole nations, the secular- 
ized dreams of young humanity." 

Rank 24 understands the myths in a similiar manner, as 
a mass dream of the people. 25 Riklin 26 has insisted 
rightly upon the dream mechanism of the fables, and 
Abraham 27 has done the same for the myths. He says : 

" The myth is a fragment of the infantile soul-life of the people." 

" Thus the myth is a sustained, still remaining fragment from 
the infantile soul-life of the people, and the dream is the myth 
, of the individual." 

An unprejudiced reading of the above-mentioned 
authors will certainly allay all doubts concerning the 
intimate connection between dream psychology and myth 
psychology. The conclusion results almost from itself, 
that the age which created the myths thought childishly 


that is to say, phantastically, as in our age is still done, 
to a very great extent (associatively or analogically) in 
dreams. The beginnings of myth formations (in the 
child), the taking of phantasies for realities, which is 
partly in accord with the historical, may easily be dis- 
covered among children. 

One might raise the objection that the mythological 
inclinations of children are implanted by education. The 
objection is futile. Has humanity at all ever broken 
loose from the myths? Every man has eyes and all his 
senses to perceive that the world is dead, cold and un- 
ending, and he has never yet seen a God, nor brought to 
light the existence of such from empirical necessity. On 
the contrary, there was need of a phantastic, indestruc- 
tible optimism, and one far removed from all sense of 
reality, in order, for example, to discover in the shameful 
death of Christ really the highest salvation and the re- 
demption of the world. Thus one can indeed withhold 
from a child the substance of earlier myths but not take 
from him the need for mythology. One can say, that 
should it happen that all traditions in the world were cut 
off with a single blow, then with the succeeding genera- 
tion, the whole mythology and history of religion would 
start over again. Only a few individuals succeed in 
throwing off mythology in a time of a certain intellectual 
supremacy the mass never frees itself. Explanations 
are of no avail; they merely destroy a transitory form 
of manifestation, but not the creating impulse. 

Let us again take up our earlier train of thought. 

We spoke of the ontogenetic re-echo of the phylo- 


genetic psychology among children, we saw that phan- 
tastic thinking is a characteristic of antiquity, of the child, 
and of the lower races; but now we know also that our 
modern and adult man is given over in large part to 
this same phantastic thinking, which enters as soon as the 
directed thinking ceases. A lessening of the interest, a 
slight fatigue, is sufficient to put an end to the directed 
thinking, the exact psychological adaptation to the real 
world, and to replace it with phantasies. We digress 
from the theme and give way to our own trains of 
thought; if the slackening of the attention increases, then 
we lose by degrees the consciousness of the present, and 
the phantasy enters into possession of the field. 

Here the important question obtrudes itself : How are 
phantasies created? From the poets we learn much about 
it; from science we learn little. The psychoanalytic 
method, presented to science by Freud, shed light upon 
this for the first time. It showed us that there are 
typical cycles. The stutterer imagines he is a great 
orator. The truth of this, Demosthenes, thanks to his 
energy, has proven. The poor man imagines himself to 
be a millionaire, the child an adult. The conquered fight 
out victorious battles with the conquerer; the unfit tor- 
ments or delights himself with ambitious plans. We 
imagine that which we lack. The interesting question of 
the " why " of all this we must here leave unanswered, 
while we return to the historic problem: From what 
source do the phantasies draw their materials? 28 We 
chose, as an example, a typical phantasy of puberty. A 
child in that stage before whom the whole frightening 


uncertainty of the future fate opens, puts back the uncer- 
tainty into the past, through his phantasy, and says, u If 
only I were not the child of my ordinary parents, but 
the child of a rich and fashionable count, and had been 
merely passed over to my parents, then some day a golden 
coach would come, and the count would take his child 
back with him to his wonderful castle," and so it goes 
on, as in Grimm's Fairy Tales which the mother tells to 
her children. 29 With a normal child, it stops with the 
fugitive, quickly-passing idea which is soon covered over 
and forgotten. However, at one time, and that was in 
the ancient world of culture, the phantasy was an openly 
acknowledged institution. The heroes, I recall Romu- 
lus and Remus, Semiramis, Moses and many others, 
have been separated from their real parents. 30 Others 
are directly sons of gods, and the noble races derive their 
family trees from heroes and gods. As one sees by this 
example, the phantasy of modern humanity is nothing but 
a re-echo of an old-folk-belief, which was very wide- 
spread originally. 31 The ambitious phantasy chooses, 
among others, a form which is classic, and which once 
had a true meaning. The same thing holds good in 
regard to the sexual phantasy. In the preamble we have 
spoken of dreams of sexual assault: the robber who 
breaks into the house and commits a dangerous act. 
That, too, is a mythological theme, and in the prehistoric 
era was certainly a reality too. 32 Wholly apart from the 
fact that the capture of women was something general 
in the lawless prehistoric times, it was also a subject of 
mythology in cultivated epochs. I recall the capture of 


Proserpina, Deianira, Europa, the Sabine women, etc. 
We must not forget that, even today, marriage customs 
exist in various regions which recall the ancient custom 
of marriage by capture. 

The symbolism of the instrument of coitus was an in- 
exhaustible material for ancient phantasy. It furnished 
a widespread cult that was designated phallic, the object 
of reverence of which was the phallus. The companion 
of Dionysus was Phales, a personification of the phallus 
proceeding from the phallic Herme of Dionysus. The 
phallic symbols were countless. Among the Sabines, the 
custom existed for the bridegroom to part the bride's 
hair with a lance. The bird, the fish and the snake were 
phallic symbols. In addition, there existed in enormous 
quantities theriomorphic representations of the sexual 
instinct, in connection with which the bull, the he-goat, 
the ram, the boar and the ass were frequently used. An 
undercurrent to this choice of symbol was furnished by 
the sodomitic inclination of humanity. When in the 
dream phantasy of modern man, the feared man is re- 
placed by an animal, there is recurring in the ontogenetic 
re-echo the same thing which was openly represented by 
the ancients countless times. There were he-goats which 
pursued nymphs, satyrs with she-goats ; in still older times 
in Egypt there even existed a shrine of a goat god, which 
the Greeks called Pan, where the Hierodules prostituted 
themselves with goats. 33 It is well known that this wor- 
ship has not died out, but continues to live as a special 
custom in South Italy and Greece. 34 

Today we feel for such a thing nothing but the deepest 


abhorrence, and never would admit it still slumbered in 
our souls. Nevertheless, just as truly as the idea of the 
sexual assault is there, so are these things there too ; which 
we should contemplate still more closely, not through 
moral eye-glasses, with horror, but with interest as a 
natural science, since these things are venerable relics of 
past culture periods. We have, even today, a clause in 
our penal code against sodomy. But that which was once 
so strong as to give rise to a worship among a highly 
developed people has probably not wholly disappeared 
from the human soul during the course of a few genera- 
tions. We may not forget that since the symposium of 
Plato, in which homo-sexuality faces us on the same level 
with the so-called " normal sexuality," only eighty gen- 
erations have passed. And what are eighty generations? 
They shrink to an imperceptible period of time when 
compared with the space of time which separates us from 
the homo-Neandertalensis or Heidelbergensis. I might 
call to mind, in this connection, some choice thoughts of 
the great historian Guglielmo Ferrero : 35 

" It is a very common belief that the further man is separated 
from the present by time, the more does he differ from us in his 
thoughts and feelings; that the psychology of humanity changes 
from century to century, like fashions of literature. Therefore, no 
sooner do we find in past history an institution, a custom, a law 
or a belief a little different from those with which we are familiar, 
than we immediately search for some complex meanings, which 
frequently resolve themselves into phrases of doubtful significance. 

" Indeed, man does not change so quickly ; his psychology at 
bottom remains the same, and even if his culture varies much from 
one epoch to another, it does not change the functioning of his 
mind. The fundamental laws of the mind remain the same, at 


least during the short historical period of which we have knowl- 
edge, and all phenomena, even the most strange, must be capable 
of explanation by those common laws of the mind which we can 
recognize in ourselves." 

The psychologist should accept this viewpoint without 
reservation as peculiarly applicable to himself. Today, 
indeed, in our civilization the phallic processions, the 
Dionysian mysteries of classical Athens, the barefaced 
Phallic emblems, have disappeared from our coins, 
houses, temples and streets; so also have the theriomor- 
phic representations of the Deity been reduced to small 
remnants, like the Dove of the Holy Ghost, the Lamb of 
God and the Cock of Peter adorning our church towers. 
In the same way, the capture and violation of women 
have shrunken away to crimes. Yet all of this does not 
affect the fact that we, in childhood, go through a period 
in which the impulses toward these archaic inclinations 
appear again and again, and that through all our life we 
possess, side by side with the newly recruited, directed 
and adapted thought, a phantastic thought which corre- 
sponds to the thought of the centuries of antiquity and 
barbarism. Just as our bodies still keep the reminders 
of old functions and conditions in many old-fashioned 
organs, so our minds, too, which apparently have out- 
grown those archaic tendencies, nevertheless bear the 
marks of the evolution passed through, and the very 
ancient re-echoes, at least dreamily, in phantasies. 

The symbolism which Freud has discovered, is re- 
vealed as an expression of a thinking and of an impulse 
limited to the dream, to wrong conduct, and to derange- 


ments of the mind, which form of thinking and impulse at 
one time ruled as the mightiest influence in past culture 

The question of whence comes the inclination and 
ability which enables the mind to express itself 
symbolically, brings us to the distinction between the 
two kinds of thinking the directed and adapted on 
one hand, and the subjective, fed by our own egotistic 
wishes, on the other. The latter form of thinking, 
presupposing that it were not constantly corrected 
by the adapted thinking, must necessarily produce an 
overwhelmingly subjectively distorted idea of the world. 
We regard this state of mind as infantile. It lies in our 
individual past, and in the past of mankind. 

With this we affirm the important fact that man in his 
phantastic thinking has kept a condensation of the psychic 
history of his development. An extraordinarily impor- 
tant task, which even today is hardly possible, is to give a 
systematic description of phantastic thinking. One may, 
at the most, sketch it. While directed thinking is a phe- 
nomenon conscious throughout, 36 the same cannot be as- 
serted of phantastic thinking. Doubtless, a great part of 
it still falls entirely in the realm of the conscious, but, 
at least, just as much goes along in half shadows, and 
generally an undetermined amount in the unconscious; 
and this can, therefore, be disclosed only indirectly. 37 By 
means of phantastic thinking, directed thinking is con- 
nected with the oldest foundations of the human mind, 
which have been for a long time beneath the threshold 
of the consciousness. The products of this phantastic 


thinking arising directly from the consciousness are, 
first, waking dreams, or day-dreams, to which Freud, 
Flournoy, Pick and others have given special attention; 
then the dreams which offer to the consciousness, at first, 
a mysterious exterior, and win meaning only through the 
indirectly inferred unconscious contents. Lastly, there is 
a so-called wholly unconscious phantasy system in the 
split-off complex, which exhibits a pronounced tend- 
ency towards the production of a dissociated person- 
ality. 38 

Our foregoing explanations show wherein the products 
arising from the unconscious are related to the mythical. 
From all these signs it may be concluded that the soul 
possesses in some degree historical strata, the oldest 
stratum of which would correspond to the unconscious. 
The result of that must be that an introversion occurring 
in later life, according to the Freudian teaching, seizes 
upon regressive infantile reminiscences taken from the 
individual past. That first points out the way; then, with 
stronger introversion and regression (strong repressions, 
introversion psychoses), there come to light pronounced 
traits of an archaic mental kind which, under certain cir- 
cumstances, might go as far as the re-echo of a once 
manifest, archaic mental product. 

This problem deserves to be more thoroughly dis- 
cussed. As a concrete example, let us take the history of 
the pious Abbe Oegger which Anatole France has com- 
municated to us. 39 This priest was a hypercritical man, 
and much given to phantasies, especially in regard to 
one question, viz., the fate of Judas; whether he was 


really damned, as the teaching of the church asserts, to 
everlasting punishment, or whether God had pardoned 
him after all. Oegger sided with the intelligent point of 
view that God, in his all-wisdom, had chosen Judas as 
an instrument, in order to bring about the highest point 
of the work of redemption by Christ. 40 This necessary 
instrument, without the help of which the human race 
would not have been a sharer in salvation, could not 
possibly be damned by the all-good God. In order to 
put an end to his doubts, Oegger went one night to the 
church, and made supplication for a sign that Judas was 
saved. Then he felt a heavenly touch upon his shoulder. 
Following this, Oegger told the Archbishop of his reso- 
lution to go out into the world to preach God's unending 

Here we have a richly developed phantasy system be- 
fore us. It is concerned with the subtle and perpetually 
undecided question as to whether the legendary figure of 
Judas is damned or not. The Judas legend is, in itself, 
mythical material, viz., the malicious betrayal of a hero. 
I recall Siegfried and Hagen, Balder and Loki. Siegfried 
and Balder were murdered by a faithless traitor from 
among their closest associates. This myth is moving and 
tragic it is not honorable battle which kills the noble, 
but evil treachery. It is, too, an occurrence which is his- 
torical over and over again. One thinks of Caesar and 
Brutus. Since the myth of such a deed is very old, and 
still the subject of teaching and repetition, it is the 
expression of a psychological fact, that envy does not 
allow humanity to sleep, and that all of us carry, in a 


hidden recess of our heart, a deadly wish towards the 
hero. This rule can be applied generally to mythical 
tradition. It does not set forth any account of the old 
events, but rather acts in such a way that it always reveals 
a thought common to humanity, and once more rejuve- 
nated. Thus, for example, the lives and deeds of the 
founders of old religions are the purest condensations 
of typical, contemporaneous myths, behind which the 
individual figure entirely disappears. 41 

But why does our pious Abbe torment himself with the 
old Judas legend ? He first went into the world to preach 
the gospel of mercy, and then, after some time, he 
separated from the Catholic church and became a Sweden- 
borgian. Now we understand his Judas phantasy. He 
was the Judas who betrayed his Lord. Therefore, first 
of all, he had to make sure of the divine mercy, in order 
to be Judas in peace. 

This case throws a light upon the mechanism of the 
phantasies in general. The known, conscious phantasy 
may be of mythical or other material; it is not to be taken 
seriously as such, for it has an indirect meaning. If we 
take it, however, as important per se, then the thing is 
not understandable, and makes one despair of the effi- 
ciency of the mind. But we saw, in the case of Abbe 
Oegger, that his doubts and his hopes did not turn upon 
the historical problem of Judas, but upon his own per- 
sonality, which wished to win a way to freedom for itself 
through the solution of the Judas problem. 

The conscious phantasies tell us of mythical or other 
material of undeveloped or no longer recognized wish 


tendencies in the soul. As is easily to be understood, an 
innate tendency, an acknowledgment of which one re- 
fuses to make, and which one treats as non-existent, can 
hardly contain a thing that may be in accord with our 
conscious character. It concerns the tendencies which are 
considered immoral, and as generally impossible, and the 
strongest resentment is felt towards bringing them into 
the consciousness. What would Oegger have said had 
he been told confidentially that he was preparing himself 
for the Judas role? And what in ourselves do we con- 
sider immoral and non-existent, or which we at least wish 
were non-existent? It is that which in antiquity lay wide- 
spread on the surface, viz., sexuality in all its various 
manifestations. Therefore, we need not wonder in the 
least when we find this at the base of most of our phan- 
tasies, even if the phantasies have a different appearance. 
Because Oegger found the damnation of Judas incom- 
patible with God's goodness, he thought about the con- 
flict in that way; that is the conscious sequence. Along 
with this is the unconscious sequence ; because Oegger 
himself wished to be a Judas, he first made sure of the 
goodness of God. To Oegger, Judas was the symbol 
of his own unconscious tendency, and he made use of this 
symbol in order to be able to meditate over his uncon- 
scious wish. The direct coming into consciousness of the 
Judas wish would have been too painful for him. Thus, 
there must be typical myths which are really the instru- 
ments of a folk-psychological complex treatment. Jacob 
Burckhardt seems to have suspected this when he once 
said that every Greek of the classical era carried in him- 


self a fragment of the Oedipus, just as every German 
carries a fragment of Faust. 42 

The problem which the simple story of the Abbe 
Oegger has brought clearly before us confronts us again 
when we prepare to examine phantasies which owe their 
existence this time to an exclusively unconscious work. 
We are indebted for the material which we will use in 
the following chapters to the useful publication of an 
American woman, Miss Frank Miller, who has given to 
the world some poetical unconsciously formed phantasies 
under the title, " Quelque faits d'imagination creatrice 
subconsciente." Vol. V., Archives de Psychologic, 


WE know, from much psychoanalytic experience, that 
whenever one recounts his phantasies or his dreams, he 
deals not only with the most important and intimate of 
his problems, but with the one the most painful at that 
moment. 1 

Since in the case of Miss Miller we have to do with a 
complicated system, we must give our attention carefully 
to the particulars which I will discuss, following as best 
I can Miss Miller's presentation. 

In the first chapter, " Phenomenes de suggestion pas- 
sagere ou d'autosuggestion instantanee," Miss Miller 
gives a list of examples of her unusual suggestibility, 
which she herself considers as a symptom of her nervous 
temperament; for example, she is excessively fond of 
caviar, whereas some of her relatives loathe it. How- 
ever, as soon as any one expresses his loathing, she her- 
self feels momentarily the same loathing. I do not need 
to emphasize especially the fact that such examples are 
very important in individual psychology; that caviar is 
a food for which nervous women frequently have an 
especial predilection, is a fact well known to the psycho- 

Miss Miller has an extraordinary faculty for taking 



other people's feelings upon herself, and of identifica- 
tion; for example, she identifies herself to such a degree 
in " Cyrano " with the wounded Christian de Neuvillette, 
that she feels in her own breast a truly piercing pain at 
that place where Christian received the deadly blow. 

From the viewpoint of analytic psychology, the theatre, 
aside from any esthetic value, may be considered as an 
institution for the treatment of the mass complex. The 
enjoyment of the comedy, or of the dramatic plot ending 
happily is produced by an unreserved identification of 
one's own complexes with the play. The enjoyment of 
tragedy lies in the thrilling yet satisfactory feeling that 
something which might occur to one's self is happening 
to another. The sympathy of our author with the dying 
Christian means that there is in her a complex awaiting 
a similar solution, which whispers softly to her " hodie 
tibi, eras mihi," and that one may know exactly what is 
considered the effectual moment Miss Miller adds that 
she felt a pain in her breast, " Lorsque Sarah Bernhardt 
se precipite sur lui pour etancher le sang de sa blessure." 
Therefore the effectual moment is when the love between 
Christian and Roxane comes to a sudden end. 

If we glance over the whole of Rostand's play, we 
come upon certain moments, the effect of which one can- 
not easily escape and which we will emphasize here be- 
cause they have meaning for all that follows. Cyrano de 
Bergerac, with the long ugly nose, on account of which 
he undertakes countless duels, loves Roxane, who, for 
her part unaware of it, loves Christian, because of the 
beautiful verses which really originate from Cyrano's 


pen, but which apparently come from Christian. Cyrano 
is the misunderstood one, whose passionate love and 
noble soul no one suspects; the hero who sacrifices him- 
self for others, and, dying, just in the evening of life, 
reads to her once more Christian's last letter, the verses 
which he himself had composed. 

" Roxane, adieu, je vais mourir! 
C'est pour ce soir, je crois, ma bien-aimee! 
J'ai Tame lourde encore d'amour inexprime. 
Et je meurs! Jamais plus, jamais mes yeux grises, 
Mes regards dont c'etait les fremissantes fetes, 
Ne baiseront au vol les gestes que vous faites; 
J'en revois un petit qui vous est familier 
Pour toucher votre front et je voudrais crier . 

Et je crie: 

Adieu! Ma chere, ma cherie, 
Mon tresor mon amour! 
Mon coeur ne vous quitta jamais une seconde, 
Et je suis et je serai jusque dans 1'autre monde 
Celui qui vous aime sans mesure, celui " 

Whereupon Roxane recognizes in him the real loved 
one. It is already too late; death comes; and in agonized 
delirium, Cyrano raises himself, and draws his sword: 

" Je crois, qu'elle regarde. . . . 
Qu'elle ose regarder mon nez, la camarde! 

(II leve son epee.) 
Que dites-vous? . . . C'est inutile! 

Je le sais! 

Mais on ne se bat pas dans 1'espoir du succes! 
Non ! Non ! C'est bien plus beau, lorsque c'est inutile ! 
Qu'est-ce que c'est que tous ceux-la? Vous etes mille? 
Ah! je vous reconnais, tous mes vieux ennemis! 
Le mensonge! 

(II frappe de son epee le vide.) 


Tiens, tiens, ha! ha! les Compromis, 
Les Prejuges, les Lachetes! . . . 

(II frappe.) 
Que je pactise? 

Jamais, jamais! Ah, te voila, toi, la Sottise! 
Je sais bien qu'a la fin vous me mettrez a has; 
N'importe: je me bats! je me bats! je me bats! 
Oui, vous m'arrachez tout, le laurier et la rose! 
Arrachez ! II y a malgre vous quelque chose 
Que j'emporte, et ce soir, quand j'entrerai chez Dieu, 
Mon salut balaiera largement le seuil bleu. 
Quelque chose que sans un pli, sans une tache, 
J'emporte malgre vous, et c'est mon panache." 

Cyrano, who under the hateful exterior of his body 
hid a soul so much more beautiful, is a yearner and one 
misunderstood, and his last triumph is that he departs, 
at least, with a clean shield " Sans un pli et sans une 
tache." The identification of the author with the dying 
Christian, who in himself is a figure but little impressive 
and sympathetic, expresses clearly that a sudden end is 
destined for her love just as for Christian's love. The 
tragic intermezzo with Christian, however, is played as 
we have seen upon a background of much wider signifi- 
cance, viz., the misunderstood love of Cyrano for 
Roxane. Therefore, the identification with Christian 
has only the significance of a substitute memory (" deck- 
erinnerung"), and is really intended for Cyrano. That 
this is just what we might expect will be seen in the 
further course of our analysis. 

Besides this story of identification with Christian, there 
follows as a further example an extraordinarily plastic 


memory of the sea, evoked by the sight of a photograph of 
a steamboat on the high seas. ( u Je sentis les pulsations 
des machines, le soulevement des vagues, le balancement 
du navire.") 

We may mention here the supposition that there are 
connected with sea journeys particularly impressive and 
strong memories which penetrate deeply into the soul 
and give an especially strong character to the surface 
memories through unconscious harmony. To what extent 
the memories assumed here agree with the above men- 
tioned problem we shall see in the following pages. 

This example, following at this time, is singular : Once, 
while in bathing, Miss Miller wound a towel around her 
hair, in order to protect it from a wetting. At the same 
moment she had the following strong impression: 

" II me sembla que j'etais sur un piedestal, une veritable statue 
egyptienne, avec tous ses details: membres raides, un pied en 
avant, la main tenant des insignes," and so on. 

Miss Miller identified herself, therefore, with an Egyp- 
tian statue, and naturally the foundation for this was 
a subjective pretension. That is to say, u I am like an 
Egyptian statue, just as stiff, wooden, sublime and im- 
passive," qualities for which the Egyptian statue is pro- 
verbial. One does not make such an assertion to one's 
self without an inner compulsion, and the correct formula 
might just as well be, " as stiff, wooden, etc., as an Egyp- 
tian statue I might indeed be." The sight of one's own 
unclothed body in a bath has undeniable effects for the 
phantasy, which can be set at rest by the above formula. 2 


The example which follows this, emphasizes the 
author's personal influence upon an artist: 

" J'ai reussi a lui faire rendre des paysages, comme ceux du 
lac Leman, ou il n'a jamais etc, et il pretendait que je pouvais 
lui faire rendre des choses qu'il n'avait jamais vues, et lui donner 
la sensation d'une atmosphere ambiante qu'il n'avait jamais sentie; 
bref que je me servais de lui comme lui-meme se servait de son 
crayon, c'est a dire comme d'un simple instrument." 

This observation stands in abrupt contrast to the phan- 
tasy of the Egyptian statue. Miss Miller had here the 
unspoken need of emphasizing her almost magic effect 
upon another person. This could not have happened, 
either, without an unconscious need, which is particularly 
felt by one who does not often succeed in making an 
emotional impression upon a fellow being. 

With that, the list of examples which are to picture 
Miss Miller's autosuggestibility and suggestive effect, is 
exhausted. In this respect, the examples are neither 
especially striking nor interesting. From an analytical 
viewpoint, on the contrary, they are much more impor- 
tant, since they afford us a glance into the squl of the 
writer. Ferenczi 3 has taught us in an excellent work 
what is to be thought about suggestibility, that is to say, 
that these phenomena win new aspects in the light of the 
Freudian libido theory, in so much as their effects be- 
come clear through " Libido-besetzungen." This was al- 
ready indicated above in the discussion of the examples, 
and in the greatest detail regarding the identification 
with Christian. The identification becomes effective by 
its receiving an influx of energy from the strongly accen- 


tuated thought and emotional feeling underlying the 
Christian motif. Just the reverse is the suggestive effect 
of the individual in an especial capacity for concentrating 
interest (that is to say, libido) upon another person, by 
which the other is unconsciously compelled to reaction 
(the same or opposed). The majority of the examples 
concern cases where Miss Miller is put under the effects 
of suggestion; that is to say, when the libido has spon- 
taneously gained possession of certain impressions, and 
this is impossible if the libido is dammed up to an un- 
usual degree by the lack of application to reality. Miss 
Miller's observations about suggestibility inform us, 
therefore, of the fact that the author is pleased to tell 
us in her following phantasies something of the history 
of her love. 


THE second chapter in Miss Miller's work is entitled, 
" Gloire a Dieu. Poeme onirique." 

When twenty years of age, Miss Miller took a long 
journey through Europe. We leave the description of it 
to her: 

" After a long and rough journey from New York to Stock- 
holm, from there to Petersburg and Odessa, I found it a true 
pleasure 1 to leave the world of inhabited cities and to enter 
the world of waves, sky and silence I stayed hours long on deck 
to dream, stretched out in a reclining chair. The histories, legends 
and myths of the different countries which I saw in the distance, 
came back to me indistinctly blended together in a sort of 
luminous mist, in which things lost their reality, while the dreams 
and thoughts alone took on somewhat the appearance of reality. 
At first, I even avoided all company and kept to myself, lost 
wholly in my dreams, where all that I knew of great, beautiful 
and good came back into my consciousness with new strength and 
new life. I also employed a great part of my time writing to my 
distant friends, reading and sketching out short poems about the 
regions visited. Some of these poems were of a very serious 

It may seem superfluous, perhaps, to enter intimately 
into all these details. If we recall, however, the remark 
made above, that when people let their unconscious 
speak, they always tell us the most important things of 



their intimate selves then even the smallest detail ap- 
pears to have meaning. Valuable personalities invariably 
tell us, through their unconscious, things that are gener- 
ally valuable, so that patient interest is rewarded. 

Miss Miller describes here a state of " introversion." 
After the life of the cities with their many impressions 
had been absorbing her interest (with that already dis- 
cussed strength of suggestion which powerfully enforced 
the impression) she breathed freely upon the ocean, and 
after so many external impressions, became engrossed 
wholly in the internal with intentional abstraction from 
the surroundings, so that things lost their reality and 
dreams became truth. We know from psychopathology 
that certain mental disturbances 2 exist which are first 
manifested by the individuals shutting themselves off 
slowly, more and more, from reality and sinking into 
their phantasies, during which process, in proportion as 
the reality loses its hold, the inner world gains in reality 
and determining power. 3 This process leads to a certain 
point (which varies with the individual) when the pa- 
tients suddenly become more or less conscious of their 
separation from reality. The event which then enters 
is the pathological excitation: that is to say, the patients 
begin to turn towards the environment, with diseased 
views (to be sure) which, however, still represent the 
compensating, although unsuccessful, attempt at trans- 
ference. 4 The methods of reaction are, naturally, very 
different I will not concern myself more closely about 
this here. 

This type appears to be generally a psychological rule 


which holds good for all neuroses and, therefore, also 
for the normal in a much less degree. We might, there- 
fore, expect that Miss Miller, after this energetic and per- 
severing introversion, which had even encroached for a 
time upon the feeling of reality, would succumb anew to 
an impression of the real world and also to just as sug- 
gestive and energetic an influence as that of her dreams. 
Let us proceed with the narrative : 

" But as the journey drew to an end, the ship's officers outdid 
themselves in kindness (tout ce qu'il y a de plus empresse et de plus 
aimable) and I passed many amusing hours teaching them English. 
On the Sicilian coast, in the harbor of Catania, I wrote a sailor's 
song which was very similar to a song well known on the sea, 
(Brine, wine and damsels fine). The Italians in general all sing 
very well, and one of the officers who sang on deck during night 
watch, had made a great impression upon me and had given me 
the idea of writing some words adapted to his melody. Soon 
after that, I was very nearly obliged to reverse the well-known 
saying, ' Veder Napoli e poi morir,' that is to say, suddenly I 
became very ill, although not dangerously so. I recovered to 
such an extent, however, that I could go on land to visit the 
sights of the city in a carriage. This day tired me very much, 
and since we had planned to see Pisa the following day, I went 
on board early in the evening and soon lay down to sleep without 
thinking of anything more serious than the beauty of the officers 
and the ugliness of the Italian beggars." 

One is somewhat disappointed at meeting here, instead 
of the expected impression of reality, rather a small inter- 
mezzo, a flirtation. Nevertheless, one of the officers, 
the singer, had made a great impression (il m'avait fait 
beaucoup d'impression) . The remark at the close of the 
description, " sans songer a rien de plus serieux qu'a la 


beaute des officiers,' and so on, diminishes the seriousness 
of the impression, it is true. The assumption, however, 
that the impression openly influenced the mood very 
much, is supported by the fact that a poem upon a subject 
of such an erotic character came forth immediately, 
" Brine, wine and damsels fine," and in the singer's honor. 
One is only too easily inclined to take such an impression 
lightly, and one admits so gladly the statements of the 
participators when they represent everything as simple 
and not at all serious. I dwell upon this impression at 
length, because it is important to know that an erotic im- 
pression after such an introversion, has a deep effect and 
is undervalued, possibly, by Miss Miller. The suddenly 
passing sickness is obscure and needs a psychologic inter- 
pretation which cannot be touched upon here because of 
lack of data. The phenomena now to be described can 
only be explained as arising from a disturbance which 
reaches to the very depths of her being. 

" From Naples to Livorno, the ship travelled for a night, 
during which I slept more or less well, my sleep, however, is 
seldom deep or dreamless. It seemed to me as if my mother's 
voice wakened me, just at the end of the following dream. At 
first I had a vague conception of the words, ' When the morning 
stars sang together,' which were the praeludium of a certain con- 
fused representation of creation and of the mighty chorals re- 
sounding through the universe. In spite of the strange, contra- 
dictory and confused character which is peculiar to the dream, 
there was mingled in it the chorus of an oratorio which has been 
given by one of the foremost musical societies of New York, and 
with that were also memories of Milton's ' Paradise Lost.' Then 
from out of this whirl, there slowly emerged certain words, which 
arranged themselves into three strophes and, indeed, they seemed 


to be in my own handwriting on ordinary blue-lined writing paper 
on a page of my old poetry book which I always carried around with 
me; in short, they appeared to me exactly as some minutes later 
they were in reality in my book." 

Miss Miller now wrote down the following poem, 
which she rearranged somewhat a few months later, to 
make it more nearly, in her opinion, like the dream 

" When the Eternal first made Sound 
A myriad ears sprang out to hear, 
And throughout all the Universe 
There rolled an echo deep and clear: 
All glory to the God of Sound! 

"When the Eternal first made Light 
A myriad eyes sprang out to look, 
And hearing ears and seeing eyes 
Once more a mighty choral took: 
All glory to the God of Light! 

" When the Eternal first gave Love 
A myriad hearts sprang into life; 
Ears filled with music, eyes with light; 
Pealed forth with hearts with love all rife: 
All glory to the God of Love ! " 

Before we enter upon Miss Miller's attempt to bring 
to light through her suppositions 5 the root of this sub- 
liminal creation, we will attempt a short analytic survey 
of the material already in our possession. The impres- 
sion on the ship has already been properly emphasized, 
so that we need have no further difficulty in gaining pos- 
session of the dynamic process which brought about this 
poetical revelation. It was made clear in the preceding 


paragraphs that Miss Miller possibly had not inconsid- 
erably undervalued the importance of the erotic impres- 
sion. This assumption gains in probability through ex- 
perience, which shows that, very generally, relatively 
weak erotic impressions are greatly undervalued. One 
can see this best in cases where those concerned, either 
from social or moral grounds, consider an erotic relation 
as something quite impossible; for example, parents and 
children, brothers and sisters, relations (homosexual) 
between older and younger men, and so on. If the im- 
pression is relatively slight, then it does not exist at all 
for the participators; if the impression is strong, then a 
tragic dependence arises, which may result in some great 
nonsense, or be carried to any extent. This lack of under- 
standing can go unbelievably far; mothers, who see the 
first erections of the small son in their own bed, a sister 
who half-playfully embraces her brother, a twenty-year- 
old daughter who still seats herself on her father's lap, 
and then has " strange " sensations in her " abdomen." 
They are all morally indignant to the highest degree if 
one speaks of " sexuality." Finally, our whole education 
is carried on with the tacit agreement to know as little 
as possible of the erotic, and to spread abroad the deepest 
ignorance in regard to it. It is no wonder, therefore, 
that the judgment, in puncto, of the importance of an 
erotic impression is generally unsafe and inadequate. 

Miss Miller was under the influence of a deep erotic 
impression, as we have seen. Because of the sum-total 
of the feelings aroused by this, it does not seem that this 
impression was more than dimly realized, for the dream 


had to contain a powerful repetition. From analytic ex- 
perience, one knows that the early dreams which patients 
bring for analysis are none the less of especial interest, 
because of the fact that they bring out criticisms and 
valuations of the physician's personality, which previ- 
ously, would have been asked for directly in vain. They 
enrich the conscious impression which the patient had of 
his physician, and often concerning very important points. 
They are naturally erotic observations which the uncon- 
scious was forced to make, just because of the quite uni- 
versal undervaluation and uncertain judgment of the 
relatively weak erotic impression. In the drastic and 
hyperbolic manner of expression of the dream, the impres- 
sion often appears in almost unintelligible form on account 
of the immeasurable dimension of the symbol. A further 
peculiarity which seems to rest upon the historic strata of 
the unconscious, is this that an erotic impression, to 
which conscious acknowledgment is denied, usurps an 
earlier and discarded transference and expresses itself 
in that. Therefore, it frequently happens, for example, 
that among young girls at the time of their first love, 
remarkable difficulties develop in the capacity for erotic 
expression, which may be reduced analytically to disturb- 
ances through a regressive attempt at resuscitation of 
the father image, or the " Father-Imago." 6 

Indeed, one might presume something similar in Miss 
Miller's case, for the idea of the masculine creative deity 
is a derivation, analytically and historically psychologic, 
of the " Father-Imago," 7 and aims, above all, to replace 
the discarded infantile father transference in such a way 


that for the individual the passing from the narrow circle 
of the family into the wider circle of human society may 
be simpler or made easier. 

In the light of this reflection, we can see, in the poem 
and its " Praeludium," the religious, poetically formed 
product of an introversion depending upon the surrogate 
of the " Father-Imago." In spite of the incomplete ap- 
perception of the effectual impression, essential compo- 
nent parts of this are included in the idea of compensa- 
tion, as marks, so to speak, of its origin. (Pfister has 
coined for this the striking expression, " Law of the Re- 
turn of the Complex.") The effectual impression was 
that of the officer singing in the night watch, u When the 
morning stars sang together." The idea of this opened 
a new world to the girl. (Creation.) 

This creator has created tone, then light, and then 
love. That the first to be created should have been tone, 
can be made clear only individually, for there is no cos- 
mogony except the Gnosis of Hermes, a generally quite 
unknown system, which would have such tendencies. But 
now we might venture a conjecture, which is already ap- 
parent, and which soon will be proven thoroughly, viz., 
the following chain of associations : the singer the sing- 
ing morning stars the God of tone the Creator the 
God of Light (of the sun) (of the fire) and of Love. 

The links of this chain are proven by the material, with 
the exception of sun and fire, which I put in parentheses, 
but which, however, will be proven through what follows 
in the further course of the analysis. All of these expres- 
sions, with one exception, belong to erotic speech. (" My 


God, star, light; my sun, fire of love, fiery love," etc.) 
" Creator " appears indistinct at first, but becomes under- 
standable through the reference to the undertone of Eros, 
to the vibrating chord of Nature, which attempts to renew 
itself in every pair of lovers, and awaits the wonder of 

Miss Miller had taken pains to disclose the unconscious 
creation of her mind to her understanding, and, indeed 
through a procedure which agrees in principle with 
psychoanalysis, and, therefore, leads to the same results 
as psychoanalysis. But, as usually happens with laymen 
and beginners, Miss Miller, because she had no knowl- 
edge of psychoanalysis, left off at the thoughts which 
necessarily bring the deep complex lying at the bottom 
of it to light in an indirect, that is to say, censored man- 
ner. More than this, a simple method, merely the carry- 
ing out of the thought to its conclusion, is sufficient to dis- 
cover the meaning. Miss Miller finds it astonishing that 
her unconscious phantasy does not, following the Mosaic 
account of creation, put light in the first place, instead of 

Now follows an explanation, theoretically constructed 
and correct ad hoc, the hollowness of which is, however, 
characteristic of all similar attempts at explanation. She 

" It is perhaps interesting to recall that Anaxagoras also had 
the Cosmos arise out of chaos through a sort of whirlwind, which 
does not happen usually without producing sound. 8 But at this 
time I had studied no philosophy, and knew nothing either of 
Anaxagoras or of his theories about the ( rov?J which I, uncon- 
sciously, was openly following. At that time, also, I was equally 


in complete ignorance of Leibnitz, and, therefore, knew nothing 
of his doctrine ' dum Deus calculat, fit mundus.' " 

Miss Miller's references to Anaxagoras and to Leib- 
nitz both refer to creation by means of thought; that is 
to say, that divine thought alone could bring forth a new 
material reality, a reference at first not intelligible, but 
which will soon, however, be more easily understood. 

We now come to those fancies from which Miss Miller 
principally drew her unconscious creation. 

" In the first place, there is the ' Paradise Lost ' by Milton, 
which we had at home in the edition illustrated by Dore, and 
which had often delighted me from childhood. Then the ( Book 
of Job,' which had been read aloud to me since the time of my 
earliest recollection. Moreover, if one compares the first words 
of * Paradise Lost ' with my first verse, one notices that there 
is the same verse measure. 

" * Of man's first disobedience . . . 

" ' When the Eternal first made sound.' 

" My poem also recalls various passages in Job, and one or two 
places in Handel's Oratorio ' The Creation,' which came out 
very indistinctly in the first part of the dream." 9 

The " Lost Paradise " which, as is well known, is so 
closely connected with the beginning of the world, is 
made more clearly evident by the verse 

" Of man's first disobedience " 

which is concerned evidently with the fall, the meaning 
of which need not be shown any further. I know the 
objection which every one unacquainted with psycho- 
analysis will raise, viz., that Miss Miller might just as 
well have chosen any other verse as an example, and that, 
accidentally, she had taken the first one that happened 


to appear which had this content, also accidentally. As 
is well known, the criticism which we hear equally from 
our medical colleagues, and from our patients, is gener- 
ally based on such arguments. This misunderstanding 
arises from the fact that the law of causation in the 
psychical sphere is not taken seriously enough ; that is to 
say, there are no accidents, no u just as wells. " It is so, 
and there is, therefore, a sufficient reason at hand why 
it is so. It is moreover true that Miss Miller's poem is 
connected with the fall, wherein just that erotic compo- 
nent comes forth, the existence of which we have surmised 

Miss Miller neglects to tell which passages in Job 
occurred to her mind. These, unfortunately, are there- 
fore only general suppositions. Take first, the analogy 
to the Lost Paradise. Job lost all that he had, and this 
was due to an act of Satan, who wished to incite him 
against God. In the same way mankind, through the 
temptation of the serpent, lost Paradise, and was plunged 
into earth's torments. The idea, or rather the mood 
which is expressed by the reference to the Lost Paradise, 
is Miss Miller's feeling that she had lost something 
which was connected with satanic temptation. To her it 
happened, just as to Job, that she suffered innocently, for 
she did not fall a victim to temptation. Job's sufferings 
are not understood by his friends ; 10 no one knows that 
Satan has taken a hand in the game, and that Job is truly 
innocent. Job never tires of avowing his innocence. Is 
there a hint in that? We know that certain neurotic and 
especially mentally diseased people continually defend 


their innocence against non-existent attacks ; however, one 
discovers at a closer examination that the patient, while 
he apparently defends his innocence without reason, fulfils 
with that a " Deckhandlung," the energy for which arises 
from just those impulses, whose sinful character is re- 
vealed by the contents of the pretended reproach and 
calumny. 11 

Job suffered doubly, on one side through the loss of his 
fortune, on the other through the lack of understanding 
in his friends ; the latter can be seen throughout the book. 
The suffering of the misunderstood recalls the figure of 
Cyrano de Bergerac he too suffered doubly, on one side 
through hopeless love, on the other side through mis- 
understanding. He falls, as we have seen, in the last hope- 
less battle against " Le Mensonge, les Compromis, les 
Prejuges, les Lachetes et la Sottise. Oui, Vous m'ar- 
rachez tout le laurier et la rose ! " 

Job laments 

" God delivereth me to the ungodly, 
And casteth me into the hands of the wicked, 
I was at ease, and he brake me asunder ; 
Yea, he hath taken me by the neck, and dashed me to pieces: 

"He hath also set me up for his mark. 
His archers compass me round about; 
He cleaveth my reins asunder, and doth not spare; 
He poureth out my gall upon the ground. 
He breaketh me with breach upon breach ; 
He runneth upon me like a giant." Job xvi: 11-15. 

The analogy of feeling lies in the suffering of the hope- 
less struggle against the more powerful. It is as if this 
conflict were accompanied from afar by the sounds of 


" creation, " which brings up a beautiful and mysterious 
image belonging to the unconscious, and which has not 
yet forced its way up to the light of the upper world. 
We surmise, rather than know, that this battle has really 
something to do with creation, with the struggles between 
negations and affirmations. The references to Rostand's 
" Cyrano " through the identification with Christian, to 
Milton's " Paradise Lost," to the sorrows of Job, mis- 
understood by his friends, betray plainly that in the soul 
of the poet something was identified with these ideas. She 
also has suffered like Cyrano and Job, has lost paradise, 
and dreams of " creation," creation by means of thought 
fruition through the whirlwind of Anaxagoras. 12 

We once more submit ourselves to Miss Miller's 
guidance : 

" I remember that when fifteen years old, I was once very 
much stirred up over an article, read aloud to me by my mother, 
concerning the idea which spontaneously produced its object. I 
was so excited that I could not sleep all night because of thinking 
over and over again what that could mean. 

" From the age of nine to sixteen, I went every Sunday to a 
Presbyterian Church, in charge of which, at that time, was a very 
cultured minister. In one of the earliest memories which I have 
retained of him, I see myself as a very small girl sitting in a 
very large pew, continually endeavoring to keep myself awake and 
pay attention, without in the least being able to understand 
what he meant when he spoke to us of Chaos, Cosmos and the 
Gift of Love (don d'amour)." 

There are also rather early memories of the awaken- 
ing of puberty (nine to sixteen) which have connected 
the idea of the cosmos springing from chaos with the 


u don d'amour." The medium in which these associations 
occur is the memory of a certain very much honored 
ecclesiastic who spoke those dark words. From the same 
period of time comes the remembrance of that excitement 
about the idea of the " creative thought " which from 
itself " produced its object." Here are two ways of crea- 
tion intimated: the creative thought, and the mysterious 
reference to the " don d'amour." 

At the time when I had not yet understood the nature 
of psychoanalysis, I had a fortunate opportunity of win- 
ning through continual observation a deep insight into 
the soul of a fifteen-year-old girl. Then I discovered, 
with astonishment, what the contents of the unconscious 
phantasies are, and how far removed they are from those 
which a girl of that age shows outwardly. There are 
wide-reaching phantasies of truly mythical fruitfulness. 
The girl was, in the split-off phantasy, the race-mother 
of uncounted peoples. 13 If we deduct the poetically 
spoken phantasy of the girl, elements are left which at 
that age are common to all girls, for the unconscious con- 
tent is to an infinitely greater degree common to all man- 
kind than the content of the individual consciousness. 
For it is the condensation of that which is historically the 
average and ordinary. 

Miss Miller's problem at this age was the common 
human problem: " How am I to be creative? " Nature 
knows but one answer to that: " Through the child (don 
d'amour!)." " But how is the child attained?" Here 
the terrifying problem emerges, which, as our analytic 
experience shows, is connected with the father, 14 where 


it cannot be solved; because the original sin of incest 
weighs heavily for all time upon the human race. The 
strong and natural love which binds the child to the 
father, turns away in those years during which the 
humanity of the father would be all too plainly recog- 
nized, to the higher forms of the father, to the " Fathers " 
of the church, and to the Father God, 15 visibly repre- 
sented by them, and in that there lies still less possibility 
of solving the problem. However, mythology is not lack- 
ing in consolations. Has not the logos become flesh 
too? Has not the divine pneuma, even the logos, en- 
tered the Virgin's womb and lived among us as the son 
of man? That whirlwind of Anaxagoras was precisely 
the divine vovz which from out of itself has become 
the world. Why do we cherish the image of the Virgin 
Mother even to this day? Because it is always comfort- 
ing and says without speech or noisy sermon to the one 
seeking comfort, " I too have become a mother," 
through the " idea which spontaneously produces its 

I believe that there is foundation enough at hand for a 
sleepless night, if those phantasies peculiar to the age of 
puberty were to become possessed of this idea the results 
would be immeasurable ! All that is psychologic has an 
under and an over meaning, as is expressed in the pro- 
found remark of the old mystic: ovparos avoo, ovpavot 
Karoo, aidfpa avco, aidspa Karon, nav rovro avoo, ndv 
rovro Karoo, rovro Xafie nai 

* The heaven above, the heaven below, the sky above, the sky below, 
all things above, all things below, decline and rise. 


We would show but slight justice, however, to the in- 
tellectual originality of our author, if we were satisfied 
to trace back the commotion of that sleepless night abso- 
lutely and entirely to the sexual problem in a narrow 
sense. That would be but one-half, and truly, to make 
use of the mystic's expression, only the under half. The 
other half is the intellectual sublimation, which strives 
to make true in its own way the ambiguous expression of 
11 the idea which produces its object spontaneously," 
Ideal creation in place of the real. 

In such an intellectual accomplishment of an evidently 
very capable personality, the prospect of a spiritual fruit- 
fulness is something which is worthy of the highest as- 
piration, since for many it will become a necessity of life. 
Also this side of the phantasy explains, to a great ex- 
tent, the excitement, for it is a thought with a presenti- 
ment of the future; one of those thoughts which arise, 
to use one of Maeterlinck's expressions, 16 from the " in- 
conscient superieur," that " prospective potency " of sub- 
liminal combinations. 17 

I have had the opportunity of observing certain cases 
of neuroses of years' duration, in which, at the time of 
the beginning of the illness or shortly before, a dream 
occurred, often of visionary clarity. This impressed 
itself inextinguishably upon the memory, and in analysis 
revealed a hidden meaning to the patient which antici- 
pated the subsequent events of life; that is to say, their 
psychologic meaning. 18 I am inclined to grant this mean- 
ing to the commotion of that restless night, because the 
resulting events of life, in so far as Miss Miller con- 


sciously and unconsciously unveils them to us, are entirely 
of a nature to confirm the supposition that that moment 
is to be considered as the inception and presentiment of 
a sublimated aim in life. 

Miss Miller concludes the list of her fancies with the 
following remarks : 

11 The dream seemed to me to come from a mixture of the 
representation of ' Paradise Lost,' * Job,' and * Creation/ with 
ideas such as ' thought which spontaneously produces its object ' : 
' the gift of love,' ' chaos, and cosmos.' " 

In the same way as colored splinters of glass are com- 
bined in a kaleidoscope, in her mind fragments of philos- 
ophy, aesthetics and religion would seem to be combined 

" under the stimulating influence of the journey, and the coun- 
tries hurriedly seen, combined with the great silence and the inde- 
scribable charm of the sea. ' Ce ne fut que cela et rien de plus.' 
1 Only this, and nothing more ! ' ' 

With these words, Miss Miller shows us out, politely 
and energetically. Her parting words in her negation, 
confirmed over again in English, leave behind a curiosity; 
viz., what position is to be negated by these words? " Ce 
ne fut que cela et rien de plus " that is to say, really, 
only " le charme impalpable de la mer " and the young 
man who sang melodiously during the night watch is long 
since forgotten, and no one is to know, least of all the 
dreamer, that he was a morning star, who came before 
the creation of a new day. 19 One should take care lest 
he satisfy himself and the reader with a sentence such as 
" ce ne fut que cela." Otherwise, it might immediately 


happen that one would become disturbed again. This 
occurs to Miss Miller too, since she allowed an English 
quotation to follow, " Only this, and nothing more," 
without giving the source, it is true. The quotation comes 
from an unusually effective poem, " The Raven " by Poe. 
The line referred to occurs in the following: 

" While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door 
' 'Tis some visitor/ I muttered, ' tapping at my chamber door ' 
Only this, and nothing more." 

The spectral raven knocks nightly at his door and 
reminds the poet of his irrevocably lost " Lenore." The 
raven's name is " Nevermore," and as a refrain to every 
verse he croaks his horrible u Nevermore." Old mem- 
ories come back tormentingly, and the spectre repeats in- 
exorably " Nevermore." The poet seeks in vain to 
frighten away the dismal guest; he calls to the raven: 

" ' Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend,' I shrieked, 


' Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken, quit the bust above my door! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off 
my door ! ' 

Quoth the raven, ' Nevermore.' " 

That quotation, which, apparently, skips lightly over 
the situation, " Only this, and nothing more," comes from 
a text which depicts in an affecting manner the despair 
over the lost Lenore. That quotation also misleads our 
poet in the most striking manner. Therefore, she under- 


values the erotic impression and the wide-reaching effect 
of the commotion caused by it. It is this undervaluation, 
which Freud has formulated more precisely as " repres- 
sion/' which is the reason why the erotic problem does 
not attain directly conscious treatment, and from this 
there arise u these psychologic riddles." The erotic im- 
pression works in the unconscious, and, in its stead, pushes 
symbols forth into consciousness. Thus, one plays hide- 
and-seek with one's self. First, it is " the morning stars 
which sing together"; then " Paradise Lost"; then the 
erotic yearning clothes itself in an ecclesiastical dress and 
utters dark words about " World Creation " and finally 
rises into a religious hymn to find there, at last, a way out 
into freedom, a way against which the censor of the moral 
personality can oppose nothing more. The hymn con- 
tains in its own peculiar character the marks of its origin. 
It thus has fulfilled itself the " Law of the Return of 
the Complex." The night singer, in this circuitous man- 
ner of the old transference to the Father-Priest, has be- 
come the " Eternal," the " Creator," the God of Tone, 
of Light, of Love. 

The indirect course of the libido seems to be a way 
of sorrow; at least "Paradise Lost" and the parallel 
reference to Job lead one to that conclusion. If we take, 
in addition to this, the introductory intimation of the 
identification with Christian, which we see concludes with 
Cyrano, then we -are furnished with material which pic- 
tures the indirect course of the libido as truly a way of 
sorrow. It is the same as when mankind, after the sinful 
fall, had the burden of the earthly life to bear, or like 


the tortures of Job, who suffered under the power of 
Satan and of God, and who himself, without suspecting it, 
became a plaything of the superhuman forces which we 
no longer consider as metaphysical, but as metapsycho- 
logical. Faust also offers us the same exhibition of 
God's wager. 


What will you bet? There's still a chance to gain him 
If unto me full leave you give 
Gently upon my road to train him! 

Satan : 

But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, 
and he will curse thee to thy face. Job i: n. 

While in Job the two great tendencies are character- 
ized simply as good and bad, the problem in Faust is a 
pronouncedly erotic one; viz., the battle between sublima- 
tion and eros, in which the Devil is strikingly character- 
ized through the fitting role of the erotic tempter. The 
erotic is lacking in Job ; at the same time Job is not con- 
scious of the conflict within his own soul; he even con- 
tinuously disputes the arguments of his friends who wish 
to convince him of evil in his own heart. To this extent, 
one might say that Faust is considerably more honor- 
able since he openly confesses to the torments of his 

Miss Miller acts like Job; she says nothing, and lets 
the evil and the good come from the other world, from 
the metapsychologic. Therefore, the identification with 
Job is also significant in this respect. .A wider, and, in- 


deed, a very important analogy remains to be mentioned. 
The creative power, which love really is, rightly con- 
sidered from the natural standpoint, remains as the real 
attribute of the Divinity, sublimated from the erotic im- 
pression; therefore, in the poem God is praised through- 
out as Creator. 

Job offers the same illustration. Satan is the destroyer 
of Job's fruitfulness. God is the fruitful one himself, 
therefore, at the end of the book, he gives forth, as an 
expression of his own creative power, this hymn, filled 
with lofty poetic beauty. In this hymn, strangely enough, 
two unsympathetic representatives of the animal king- 
dom, behemoth and the leviathan, both expressive of the 
crudest force conceivable in nature, are given chief con- 
sideration; the behemoth being really the phallic attri- 
bute of the God of Creation. 

" Behold now behemoth, which I made as well as thee; 
He eateth grass as an ox. 
Lo, now; his strength is in his loins, 
And his force is in the muscles of his belly. 
He moveth his tail like a cedar : 
The sinews of his thighs are knit together. 
His bones are as tubes of brass; 
His limbs are like bars of iron. 
He is the chief of the ways of God: 
He only that made him giveth him his sword. . . . 
Behold, if a river overflow, he trembleth not; 
He is confident though a Jordan swell even to his mouth. 
Shall any take him when he is on the watch. 
Or pierce through his nose with a snare? 
Canst thou draw leviathan with a fish-hook? 
Or press down his tongue with a cord? . . . 


Lay thy hand upon him; 

Remember the battle and do no more. 

None is so fierce that dare stir him up: 

Who then is he that can stand before me? 

Who hath first given unto me, that I should repay him? 

Whatsoever is under the whole heaven is mine." 

Job xl: 15-20, 23-24; xli: I, 8, 10-11. 

God says this in order to bring his power and omnipo- 
tence impressively before Job's eyes. God is like the 
behemoth and the leviathan; the fruitful nature giving 
forth abundance, the untamable wildness and bound- 
lessness of nature, and the overwhelming danger of the 
unchained power. 20 

But what has destroyed Job's earthly paradise? The 
unchained power of nature. As the poet lets it be seen 
here, God has simply turned his other side outwards for 
once; the side which man calls the devil, and which lets 
loose all the torments of nature on Job, naturally for the 
purpose of discipline and training. The God who cre- 
ated such monstrosities, before whom the poor weak man 
stiffens with anxiety, truly must hide qualities within him- 
self which are food for thought. This God lives in the 
heart, in the unconscious, in the realm of metapsychology. 
There is the source of the anxiety before the unspeakably 
horrible, and of the strength to withstand the horrors. 
The person, that is to say his conscious " I," is like a play- 
thing, like a feather which is whirled around by different 
currents of air; sometimes the sacrifice and sometimes the 
sacrificer, and he cannot hinder either. The Book of Job 
shows us God at work both as creator and destroyer. 
Who is this God? A thought which humanity in every 


part of the world and in all ages has brought forth from 
itself and always again anew in similar forms; a power in 
the other world to which man gives praise, a power which 
creates as well as destroys, an idea necessary to life. 
Since, psychologically understood, the divinity is nothing 
else than a projected complex of representation which is 
accentuated in feeling according to the degree of religious- 
ness of the individual, so God is to be considered as the 
representative of a certain sum of energy (libido). 
This energy, therefore, appears projected (metaphysi- 
cally) because it works from the unconscious outwards, 
when it is dislodged from there, as psychoanalysis shows. 
As I have earlier made apparent in the " Bedeutung des 
Vaters," the religious instinct feeds upon the incestuous 
libido of the infantile period. In the principal forms 
of religion which now exist, the father transference seems 
to be at least the moulding influence; in older religions, 
it seems to be the influence of the mother transference 
which creates the attributes of the divinity. The attri- 
butes of the divinity are omnipotence, a sternly persecut- 
ing paternalism ruling through fear (Old Testament) 
and a loving paternalism (New Testament). These are 
the attributes of the libido in that wide sense in which 
Freud has conceived this idea empirically. In certain 
pagan and also in certain Christian attributes of divinity 
the maternal stands out strongly, and in the former the 
animal also comes into the greatest prominence. 21 Like- 
wise, the infantile, so closely interwoven with religious 
phantasies, and from time to time breaking forth so vio- 
lently, is nowhere lacking. 22 All this points to the sources 


of the dynamic states of religious activity. These are 
those impulses which in childhood are withdrawn from 
incestuous application through the intervention of the 
incest barrier and which, especially at the time of puberty, 
as a result of affluxes of libido coming from the still in- 
completely employed sexuality, are aroused to their own 
peculiar activity. As is easily understood, that which is 
valuable in the God-creating idea is not the form but 
the power, the libido. The primitive power which Job's 
Hymn of Creation vindicates, the unconditional and in- 
exorable, the unjust and the superhuman, are truly and 
rightly attributes of libido, which " lead us unto life," 
which u let the poor be guilty," and against which strug- 
gle is in vain. Nothing remains for mankind but to work 
in harmony with this will. Nietzsche's u Zarathustra " 
teaches us this impressively. 

We see that in Miss Miller the religious hymn arising 
from the unconscious is the compensating amend for the 
erotic; it takes a great part of its materials from the 
infantile reminiscences which she re-awakened into life 
by the introversion of the libido. Had this religious cre- 
ation not succeeded (and also had another sublimated 
application been eliminated) then Miss Miller would 
have yielded to the erotic impression, either to its natural 
consequence or to a negative issue, which would have 
replaced the lost success in love by a correspondingly 
strong' sorrow. It is well known that opinions are much 
divided concerning the worth of this issue of an erotic 
conflict, such as Miss Miller has presented to us. It is 
thought to be much more beautiful to solve unnoticed an 


erotic tension, in the elevated feelings of religious poetry, 
in which perhaps many other people can find joy and 
consolation. One is wrong to storm against this con- 
ception from the radical standpoint of fanaticism for 

I think that one should view with philosophic admira- 
tion the strange paths of the libido and should investi- 
gate the purposes of its circuitous ways. 

It is not too much to say that we have herewith dug up 
the erotic root, and yet the problem remains unsolved. 
Were there not bound up with that a mysterious purpose, 
probably of the greatest biological meaning, then cer- 
tainly twenty centuries would not have yearned for it 
with such intense longing. Doubtless, this sort of libidian 
current moves in the same direction as, taken in the widest 
sense, did that ecstatic ideal of the Middle Ages and of 
the ancient mystery cults, one of which became the later 
Christianity. There is to be seen biologically in this 
ideal an exercise of psychologic projection (of the para- 
noidian mechanism, as Freud would express it). 23 The 
projection consists in the repressing of the conflict into 
the unconscious and the setting forth of the repressed 
contents into seeming objectivity, which is also the for- 
mula of paranoia. The repression serves, as is well 
known, for the freeing from a painful complex from 
which one must escape by all means because its compelling 
and oppressing power is feared. The repression can lead 
to an apparent complete suppression which corresponds 
to a strong self-control. Unfortunately, however, self- 
control has limits which are only too narrowly drawn. 


Closer observation of people shows, it is true, that calm 
is maintained at the critical moment, but certain results 
occur which fall into two categories. 

First, the suppressed effect comes to the surface imme- 
diately afterwards; seldom directly, it is true, but ordi- 
narily in the form of a displacement to another object 
(e. g. a person is, in official relations, polite, submissive, 
patient, and so on, and turns his whole anger loose upon 
his wife or his subordinates). 

Second, the suppressed effect creates compensations 
elsewhere. For example, people who strive for excessive 
ethics, who try always to think, feel, and act altruistically 
and ideally, avenge themselves, because of the impossi- 
bility of carrying out their ideals, by subtle maliciousness, 
which naturally does not come into their own conscious- 
ness as such, but which leads to misunderstandings and 
unhappy situations. Apparently, then, all of these are 
only u especially unfortunate circumstances," or they are 
the guilt and malice of other people, or they are tragic 

One is, indeed, freed of the conscious conflict, never- 
theless it lies invisible at one's feet, and is stumbled over 
at every step. The technic of the apparent suppressing 
and forgetting is inadequate because it is not possible of 
achievement in the last analysis it is in reality a mere 
makeshift. The religious projection offers a much more 
effectual help. In this one keeps the conflict in sight 
(care, pain, anxiety, and so on) and gives it over to a 
personality standing outside of one's self, the Divinity. 
The evangelical command teaches us this: 


" Cast all your anxiety upon him, because he careth for 
you." / Peter v: 7. 

" In nothing be anxious; but in every thing by prayer and sup- 
plication ... let your requests be made known unto God." 
Phil. iv:6. 

One must give the burdening complex of the soul con- 
sciously over to the Deity; that is to say, associate it with 
a definite representation complex which is set up as ob- 
jectively real, as a person who answers those questions, 
for us unanswerable. To this inner demand belongs the 
candid avowal of sin and the Christian humility presum- 
ing such an avowal. Both are for the purpose of making 
it possible for one to examine one's self and to know one's 
self. 24 One may consider the mutual avowal of sins as 
the most powerful support to this work of education 
( u Confess, therefore, your sins one to another." James 
v: 1 6). These measures aim at a conscious recognition 
of the conflicts, thoroughly psychoanalytic, which is also 
a conditio sine qua non of the psychoanalytic condition 
of recovery. Just as psychoanalysis in the hands of the 
physician, a secular method, sets up the real object of 
transference as the one to take over the conflicts of the 
oppressed and to solve them, so the Christian religion sets 
up the Saviour, considered as real; " In whom we have 
redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of 
sins. . . ." (Eph. iry and Col. i: i 4 .) 25 He is the 
deliverer and redeemer of our guilt, a God who stands 
above sin, " who did no sin, neither was guile found in 
his mouth " (Pet. ii: 22). " Who his own self bare our 
sins in his body upon the tree " (Pet. ii: 24). "There- 


fore Christ has been sacrificed once to take away the 
sins of many" (Heb. ix:28). The God, thus thought 
of, is distinguished as innocent in himself and as the 
self-sacrificer. (These qualities are true also for that 
amount of energy libido which belongs to the rep- 
resentation complex designated the Redeemer.) The 
conscious projection towards which the Christian educa- 
tion aims, offers, therefore, a double benefit: first, one is 
kept conscious of the conflict (sins) of two opposing 
tendencies mutually resistant, and through this one pre- 
vents a known trouble from becoming, by means of re- 
pressing and forgetting, an unknown and therefore so 
much more tormenting sorrow. Secondly, one lightens 
one's burden by surrendering it to him to whom all solu- 
tions are known. One must not forget that the individual 
psychologic roots of the Deity, set up as real by the pious, 
are concealed from him, and that he, although unaware 
of this, still bears the burden alone and is still alone with 
his conflict. This delusion would lead infallibly to the 
speedy breaking up of the system, for Nature cannot in- 
definitely be deceived, but the powerful institution of 
Christianity meets this situation. The command in the 
book of James is the best expression of the psychologic 
significance of this : " Bear ye one another's burdens." 26 
This is emphasized as especially important in order 
to preserve society upright through mutual love (Trans- 
ference) ; the Pauline writings leave no doubt about this: 

"Through love be servants one to another." Gal. v: 13. 

" Let love of the brethren continue." Heb. xiii: I. 

" And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and 


good works. Not forgetting our own assembling together as 
is the custom of some, but exhorting one another." Heb. x: 24-25. 

We might say that the real transference taught in the 
Christian community is the condition absolutely necessary 
for the efficacy of the miracle of redemption; the first 
letter of John comes out frankly with this : 

" He that loveth his brother abideth in the light." / John 


" If we love one another, God abideth in us." / John iv: 12. 

The Deity continues to be efficacious in the Christian 
religion only upon the foundation of brotherly love. 
Consequently, here too the mystery of redemption is the 
unresisting real transference. 27 One may properly ask 
one's self, for what then is the Deity useful, if his efficacy 
consists only in the real transference? To this also the 
evangelical message has a striking answer: 

" Men are all brothers in Christ." 

" So Christ also, having been once offered to bear the sins 
of many, shall appear a second time apart from sin to them 
that wait for him unto salvation." Heb. ix: 28. 

The condition of transference among brothers is to be 
such as between man and Christ, a spiritual one. As the 
history of ancient cults and certain Christian sects shows, 
this explanation of the Christian religion is an especially 
important one biologically, for the psychologic intimacy 
creates certain shortened ways between men which lead 
only too easily to that from which Christianity seeks to 
release them, namely to the sexual relation with all those 


consequences and necessities under which the really al- 
ready highly civilized man had to suffer at the beginning 
of our Christian era. For just as the ancient religious 
experience was regarded distinctly as a bodily union with 
the Deity, 28 just so was worship permeated with sexual- 
ity of every kind. Sexuality lay only too close to the 
relations of people with each other. The moral degen- 
eracy of the first Christian century produced a moral re- 
action arising out of the darkness of the lowest strata of 
society which was expressed in the second and third cen- 
turies at its purest in the two antagonistic religions, Chris- 
tianity on the one side, and Mithracism on the other. 
These religions strove after precisely that higher form 
of social intercourse symbolic of a projected " become 
flesh" idea (logos), whereby all those strongest impul- 
sive energies of the archaic man, formerly plunging him 
from one passion into another, 29 and which seemed to the 
ancients like the compulsion of the evil constellations, as 
etfAapjjerrj,* and which in the sense of later ages might 
be translated as the driving force of the libido, 30 the 
dvvapis HivrjrtH^\ of Zeno, could be made use of for 
social preservation. 31 

It may be assumed most certainly that the domestica- 
tion of humanity has cost the greatest sacrifices. An age 
which produced the stoical ideal must certainly have 
known why and against what it was created. The age 
of Nero serves to set off effectually the famous extracts 
from the forty-first letter of Seneca to Lucilius: 

* Destiny. 

t Power for putting in motion. 



" One drags the other into error, and how can we attain to 
salvation when no one bids us halt, when all the world drives 
us in deeper? " 

" Do you ever come across a man unafraid in danger, un- 
touched by desires, happy in misfortune, peaceful in the midst 
of a storm, elevated above ordinary mortals, on the same plane 
as the gods, does not reverence seize you ? Are you not compelled 
to say, ' Such an exalted being is certainly something different 
from the miserable body which he inhabits ' ? A divine strength 
rules there, such an excellent mind, full of moderation, raised above 
all trivialities, which smiles at that which we others fear or strive 
after: a heavenly power animates such a person, a thing of this 
kind does not exist without the cooperation of a deity. The 
largest part of such a being belongs to the region from which he 
came. Just as the sun's rays touch the earth in reality and yet 
are at home only there from whence they come, so an eminent 
holy man associates with us. He is sent to us that we may 
learn to know the divine better, and although with us, still really 
belongs to his original home. He looks thither and reaches to- 
wards it; among us he walks as an exalted being." 

The people of this age had grown ripe for identifica- 
tion with the Aoyos (word) "become flesh," for the 
founding of a new fellowship, united by one idea, 32 in the 
name of which people could love each other and call 
each other brothers. 33 The old vague idea of a ^eair^ 
(Messiah), of a mediator in whose name new ways of 
love would be created, became a fact, and with that hu- 
manity made an immense step forward. This had not 
been brought about by a speculative, completely sophisti- 
cated philosophy, but by an elementary need in the mass of 
people vegetating in spiritual darkness. The profoundest 
necessities had evidently driven them towards that, since 
humanity did not thrive in a state of dissoluteness. 34 The 


meaning of those cults I speak of Christianity and 
Mithracism is clear; it is a moral restraint of animal 
impulses. 35 The dynamic appearance of both religions 
betrays something of that enormous feeling of redemp- 
tion which animated the first disciples and which we to- 
day scarcely know how to appreciate, for these old truths 
are empty to us. Most certainly we should still under- 
stand it, had our customs even a breath of ancient brutal- 
ity, for we can hardly realize in this day the whirlwinds 
of the unchained libido which roared through the ancient 
Rome of the Caesars. The civilized man of the present 
day seems very far removed from that. He has become 
merely neurotic. So for us the necessities which brought 
forth Christianity have actually been lost, since we no 
longer understand their meaning. We do not know 
against what it had to protect us. 36 For enlightened peo- 
ple, the so-called religiousness has already approached 
very close to a neurosis. In the past two thousand years 
Christianity has done its work and has erected barriers 
of repression, which protect us from the sight of our 
own " sinfulness." The elementary emotions of the 
libido have come to be unknown to us, for they are car- 
ried on in the unconscious; therefore, the belief which 
combats them has become hollow and empty. Let who- 
ever does not believe that a mask covers our religion, ob- 
tain an impression for himself from the appearance of 
our modern churches, from which style and art have long 
since fled. 

With this we turn back to the question from which we 
digressed, namely, whether or not Miss Miller has ere- 


ated something valuable with her poem. If we bear in 
mind under what psychologic or moral conditions Chris- 
tianity came into existence ; that is to say, at a time when 
fierce brutality was an every-day spectacle, then we under- 
stand the religious seizure of the whole personality and 
the worth of that religion which defended the people of 
the Roman culture against the visible storms of wicked- 
ness. It was not difficult for those people to remain con- 
scious of sin, for they saw it every day spread out before 
their eyes. The religious product was at that time the 
accomplishment of the total personality. Miss Miller not 
only undervalues her " sins," but the connection between 
the " depressing and unrelenting need " and her religious 
product has even escaped her. Thus her poetical crea- 
tion completely loses the. living value of a religious 
product. It is not much more than a sentimental trans- 
formation of the erotic which is secretly carried out close 
to consciousness and principally possesses the same worth 
as. the manifest content of the dream 37 with its uncertain 
and delusive perishableness. Thus the poem is properly 
only a dream become audible. 

To the degree that the modern consciousness is eagerly 
busied with things of a wholly other sort than religion, 
religion and its object, original sin, have stepped into the 
background; that is to say, into the unconscious in great 
part. Therefore, today man believes neither in the one 
nor in the other. Consequently the Freudian school is ac- 
cused of an impure phantasy, and yet one might convince 
one's self very easily with a rather fleeting glance at the 
history of ancient religions and morals as to what kind 


of demons are harbored in the human soul. With this 
disbelief in the crudeness of human nature is bound up 
the disbelief in the power of religion. The phenomenon, 
well known to every psychoanalyst, of the unconscious 
transformation of an erotic conflict into religious activity 
is something ethically wholly worthless and nothing but 
an hysterical production. Whoever, on the other hand, 
to his conscious sin just as consciously places religion in 
opposition, does something the greatness of which can- 
not be denied. This can be verified by a backward glance 
over history. Such a procedure is sound religion. The 
unconscious recasting of the erotic into something re- 
ligious lays itself open to the reproach of a sentimental 
and ethically worthless pose. 

By means of the secular practice of the naive projection 
which is, as we have seen, nothing else than a veiled or 
indirect real-transference (through the spiritual, through 
the logos), Christian training has produced a widespread 
weakening of the animal nature so that a great part of 
the strength of the impulses could be set free for the 
work of social preservation and fruitfulness. 38 This 
abundance of libido, to make use of this singular ex- 
pression, pursues with a budding renaissance (for ex- 
ample Petrarch) a course which outgoing antiquity had 
already sketched out as religious; viz., the way of the 
transference to nature. 39 The transformation of this 
libidinous interest is in great part due to the Mithraic 
worship, which was a nature religion in the best sense of 
the word ; 40 while the primitive Christians exhibited 
throughout an antagonistic attitude to the beauties of this 


world. 41 I remember the passage of St. Augustine men- 
tioned by J. Burkhardt : 

" Men draw thither to admire the heights of the mountains 
and the powerful waves of the sea and to turn away from 

The foremost authority on the Mithraic cult, Franz 
Cumont, 42 says as follows: 

" The gods were everywhere and mingled in all the events of 
daily life. The fire which cooked the means of nourishment for 
the believers and which warmed them ; the water which quenched 
their thirst and cleansed them; also the air which they breathed, 
and the day which shone for them, were the objects of their 
homage. Perhaps no religion has given to its adherents in so 
large a degree as Mithracism opportunity for prayer and motive 
for devotion. When the initiated betook himself in the evening 
to the sacred grotto concealed in the solitude of the forest, at 
every step new sensations awakened in his heart some mystical 
emotion. The stars that shone in the sky, the wind that whispered 
in the foliage, the spring or brook which hastened -murmuring to 
the valley, even the earth which he trod under his feet, were in 
his eyes divine; and all surrounding nature a worshipful fear of 
the infinite forces that swayed the universe." 

These fundamental thoughts of Mithracism, which, 
like so much else of the ancient spiritual life, arose again 
from their grave during the renaissance are to be found 
in the beautiful words of Seneca : 43 

" When you enter a grove peopled with ancient trees, higher 
than the ordinary, and whose boughs are so closely interwoven 
that the sky cannot be seen, the stately shadows of the wood, the 
privacy of the place, and the awful gloom cannot but strike you, 
as with the presence of a deity, or when we see some cave at 
the foot of a mountain penetrating the rocks, not made by human 


hands, but hollowed out to great depths by nature; it fills the 
mind with a religious fear; we venerate the fountain-heads of 
great rivers; the sudden eruption of a vast body of water from 
the secret places of the earth, obtains an altar : we adore likewise 
the springs of warm baths, and either the opaque quality or 
immense depths, hath made some lakes sacred." 

All this disappeared in the transitory world of the 
Christian, only to break forth much later when the 
thought of mankind had achieved that independence of 
the idea which could resist the aesthetic impression, so that 
thought was no longer fettered by the emotional effects 
of the impression, but could rise to reflective observation. 
Thus man entered into a new and independent relation to 
nature whereby the foundation was laid for natural science 
and technique. With that, however, there entered in for 
the first time a displacement of the weight of interest; 
there arose again real-transference which has reached its 
greatest development in our time. Materialistic interest 
has everywhere become paramount. Therefore, the 
realms of the spirit, where earlier the greatest conflicts 
and developments took place, lie deserted and fallow; the 
world has not only lost its God as the sentimentalists of 
the nineteenth century bewail, but also to some extent has 
lost its soul as well. One, therefore, cannot wonder that 
the discoveries and doctrines of the Freudian school, with 
their wholly psychologic views, meet with an almost uni- 
versal disapproval. Through the change of the centre of 
interest from the inner to the outer world, the knowledge 
of nature has increased enormously in comparison with 
that of earlier times. By this the anthropomorphic con- 
ception of the religious dogmas has been definitely thrown 


open to question; therefore, the present-day religions 
can only with the greatest difficulty close their eyes to this 
fact; for not only has the intense interest been diverted 
from the Christian religion, but criticism and the neces- 
sary correction have increased correspondingly. The 
Christian religion seems to have fulfilled its great bio- 
logical purpose, in so far as we are able to judge. It has 
led human thought to independence, and has lost its sig- 
nificance, therefore, to a yet undetermined extent; in any 
case its dogmatic contents have become related to Mith- 
racism. In consideration of the fact that this religion 
has rendered, nevertheless, inconceivable service to edu- 
cation, one cannot reject it " eo ipso " today. It seems 
to me that we might still make use in some way of its 
form of thought, and especially of its great wisdom of 
life, which for two thousand years has been proven to 
be particularly efficacious. The stumbling block is the 
unhappy combination of religion and morality. That 
must be overcome. There still remain traces of this strife 
in the soul, the lack of which in a human being is re- 
luctantly felt. It is hard to say in what such things con- 
sist; for this, ideas as well as words are lacking. If, in 
spite of that, I attempt to say something about it, I do 
it parabolically, using Seneca's words : 44 

" Nothing can be more commendable and beneficial if you per- 
severe in the pursuit of wisdom. It is what would be ridiculous 
to wish for when it is in your power to attain it. There is no 
need to lift up your hands to Heaven, or to pray the servant of 
the temple to admit you to the ear of the idol that your prayers 
may be heard the better. God is near thee; he is with thee. 
Yes, Lucilius, a holy spirit resides within us, the observer of 


good and evil, and our constant guardian. And as we treat 
him, he treats us; no good man is without a God. Could any one 
ever rise above the power of fortune without his assistance? It 
is he that inspires us with thoughts, upright, just and pure. We 
do not, indeed, pretend to say what God; but that a God dwells 
in the breast of every good man is certain." 


A LITTLE later Miss Miller travelled from Geneva to 
Paris. She says: 

" My weariness on the railway was so great that I could 
hardly sleep an hour. It was terrifically hot in the ladies' 

At four o'clock in the morning she noticed a moth that 
flew against the light in her compartment. She then tried 
to go to sleep again. Suddenly the following poem took 
possession of her mind. 

The Moth to the Sun 

" I longed for thee when first I crawled to consciousness. 
My dreams were all of thee when in the chrysalis I lay. 
Oft myriads of my kind beat out their lives 
Against some feeble spark once caught from thee. 
And one hour more and my poor life is gone; 
Yet my last effort, as my first desire, shall be 
But to approach thy glory; then, having gained 
One raptured glance, I'll die content. 
For I, the source of beauty, warmth and life 
Have in his perfect splendor once beheld." 

Before . we go into the material which Miss Miller 
offers us for the understanding of the poem, we will 
again cast a glance over the psychologic situation in which 
the poem originated. Some months or weeks appear to 



have elapsed since the last direct manifestation of the 
unconscious that Miss Miller reported to us; about this 
period we have had no information. We learn nothing 
about the moods and phantasies of this time. If one 
might draw a conclusion from this silence it would be 
presumably that in the time which elapsed between the 
two poems, really nothing of importance had happened, 
and that, therefore, this poem is again but a voiced frag- 
ment of the unconscious working of the complex stretch- 
ing out over months and years. It is highly probable that 
it is concerned with the same complex as before. 1 The 
earlier product, a hymn of creation full of hope, has, 
however, but little similarity to the present poem. The 
poem lying before us has a truly hopeless, melancholy 
character; moth and sun, two things which never meet. 
One must in fairness ask, is a moth really expected to 
rise to the sun? We know indeed the proverbial saying 
about the moth that flew into the light and singed its 
wings, but not the legend of the moth that strove towards 
the sun. Plainly, here, two things are connected in her 
thoughts that do not belong together; first, the moth 
which fluttered around the light so long that it burnt 
itself; and then, the idea of a small ephemeral being, 
something like the day fly, which, in lamentable contrast 
to the eternity of the stars, longs for an imperishable 
daylight. This idea reminds one of Faust: 

" Mark how, beneath the evening sunlight's glow 
The green-embosomed houses glitter; 
The glow retreats, done is the day of toil, 
It yonder hastes, new fields of life exploring; 


Ah, that no wing can lift me from the soil 

Upon its track to follow, follow soaring! 

Then would I see eternal Evening gild 

The silent world beneath me glowing. . . . 

Yet, finally, the weary god is sinking; 

The new-born impulse fires my mind, 

I hasten on, his beams eternal drinking, 

The day before me and the night behind, 

Above me heaven unfurled, the floor of waves beneath me, 

A glorious dream! though now the glories fade. 

Alas! the wings that lift the mind no aid 

Of wings to lift the body can bequeath me." 

Not long afterwards, Faust sees " the black dog roving 
there through cornfields and stubble," the dog who is the 
same as the devil, the tempter, in whose hellish fires 
Faust has singed his wings. When he believed that he 
was expressing his great longing for the beauty of the 
sun and the earth, " he went astray thereover " and fell 
into the hands of " the Evil One. 1 ' 

" Yes, resolute to reach some brighter distance, 
On earth's fair sun I turn my back." 

This is what Faust had said shortly before, in true 
recognition of the state of affairs. The honoring of the 
beauty of nature led the Christian of the Middle Ages to 
pagan thoughts which lay in an antagonistic relation to 
his conscious religion, just as once Mithracism was in 
threatening competition with Christianity, for Satan often 
disguises himself as an angel of light. 2 

The longing of Faust became his ruin. The longing 
for the Beyond had brought as a consequence a loathing 
for life, and he stood on the brink of self-destruction. 8 


The longing for the beauty of this world led him anew 
to ruin, into doubt and pain, even to Marguerite's tragic 
death. His mistake was that he followed after both 
worlds with no check to the driving force of his libido, 
like a man of violent passion. Faust portrays once more 
the folk-psychologic conflict of the beginning of the 
Christian era, but what is noteworthy, in a reversed 

Against what fearful powers of seduction Christ had 
to defend himself by means of his hope of the absolute 
world beyond, may be seen in the example of Alypius in 
Augustine. If any of us had been living in that period 
of antiquity, he would have seen clearly that that culture 
must inevitably collapse because humanity revolted 
against it. It is well known that even before the spread 
of Christianity a remarkable expectation of redemption 
had taken possession of mankind. The following 
eclogue of Virgil might well be a result of this mood: 

" Ultima Cumasi venit jam carminis aetas;* 
Magnus ab integro Saeclorum nascitur ordo, 
Jam redit et Virgo, 4 redeunt Saturnia regna; 

* " The last age of Cumean prophecy has come already! 
Over again the great series of the ages commences: 
Now too returns the Virgin, return the Saturnian kingdoms; 
Now at length a new progeny is sent down from high Heaven. 
Only, chaste Lucina, to the boy at his birth be propitious, 
In whose time first the age of iron shall discontinue, 
And in the whole world a golden age arise: now rules thy Apollo. 

Under thy guidance, if any traces of our guilt continue, 
Rendered harmless, they shall set the earth free from fear forever, 
He shall partake of the life of the gods, and he shall see 
Heroes mingled with gods, and he too shall be seen by them. 
And he shall rule a peaceful world with his father's virtues." 


Jam nova progenies caelo demittitur alto. 
Tu modo nascenti puero, quo ferrea primum 
Desinet ac toto surget gens aurea mundo, 
Casta fave Lucina: tuus jam regnat Apollo. 

" Te duce, si qua manent sceleris vestigia nostri, 
Inrita perpetua solvent formidine terras. 
Ille deum vitam accipiet divisque videbit 
Permixtos heroas et ipse videbitur illis, 
Pacatumque reget patriis virtutibus orbem." 5 

The turning to asceticism resulting from the general 
expansion of Christianity brought about a new misfortune 
to many: monasticism and the life of the anchorite. 6 

Faust takes the reverse course; for him the ascetic 
ideal means death. He struggles for freedom and wins 
life, at the same time giving himself over to the Evil One; 
but through this he becomes the bringer of death to her 
whom he loves most, Marguerite. He tears himself 
away from pain and sacrifices his life in unceasing useful 
work, through which he saves many lives. 7 His double 
mission as saviour and destroyer has already been hinted 
in a preliminary manner: 


With what a feeling, thou great man, must thou 
Receive the people's honest veneration ! 


Thus we, our hellish boluses compounding, 
Among these vales and hills surrounding, 
Worse than the pestilence, have passed. 
Thousands were done to death from poison of my giving ; 
And I must hear, by all the living, 
The shameless murderers praised at last! 


A parallel to this double role is that text in the Gospel 
of Matthew which has become historically significant: 

" I came not to send peace, but a sword." Matt, x: 34. 

Just this constitutes the deep significance of Goethe's 
Faust, that he clothes in words a problem of modern 
man which has been turning in restless slumber since the 
Renaissance, just as was done by the drama of Oedipus 
for the Hellenic sphere of culture. What is to be the way 
out between the Scylla of renunciation of the world and 
the Charybdis of the acceptance of the world? 

The hopeful tone, voiced in the u Hymn to the God 
of Creation," cannot continue very long with our author. 
The pose simply promises, but does not fulfil. The old 
longing will come again, for it is a peculiarity of all com- 
plexes worked over merely in the unconscious 8 that they 
lose nothing of their original amount of affect. Mean- 
while, their outward manifestations can change almost 
endlessly. One might therefore consider the first poem 
as an unconscious longing to solve the conflict through 
positive religiousness, somewhat in the same manner as 
they of the earlier centuries decided their conscious con- 
flicts by opposing to them the religious standpoint. This 
wish does not succeed. Now with the second poem there 
follows a second attempt which turns out in a decidedly 
more material way; its thought is unequivocal. Only 
once u having gained one raptured glance . . ." and 
then to die. 

From the realms of the religious world, the attention, 
just as in Faust, 9 turns towards the sun of this world, 


and already there is something mingled with it which 
has another sense, that is to say, the moth which fluttered 
so long around the light that it burnt its wings. 

We now pass to that which Miss Miller offers for the 
better understanding of the poem. She says : 

" This small poem made a profound impression upon me. I 
could not, of course, find immediately a sufficiently clear and di- 
rect explanation for it. However, a few days later when I once 
more read a certain philosophical work, which I had read in 
Berlin the previous winter, and which I had enjoyed very much, 
(I was reading it aloud to a friend), I came across the following 
words: 'La meme aspiration passionnee de la mite vers 1'etoile, 
de Fhomme vers Dieu.' (The same passionate longing of the 
moth for the star, of man for God. ) I had forgotten this sentence 
entirely, but it seemed very clear to me that precisely these words 
had reappeared in my hypnagogic poem. In addition to that it 
occurred to me that a play seen some years previously, ' La Mite 
et La Flamme,' was a further possible cause of the poem. It is 
easy to see how often the word ' moth ' had been impressed upon 

The deep impression made by the poem upon the 
author shows that she put into it a large amount of love. 
In the expression " aspiration passionnee " we meet the 
passionate longing of the moth for the star, of man for 
God, and indeed, the moth is Miss Miller herself. Her 
last observation that the word " moth " was often im- 
pressed upon her shows how often she had noticed the 
word u moth " as applicable to herself. Her longing for 
God resembles the longing of the moth for the "star" 
The reader will recall that this expression has already had 
a place in the earlier material, " when the morning stars 
sang together," that is to say, the ship's officer who sings 


on deck in the night watch. The passionate longing for 
God is the same as that longing for the singing morning 
stars. It was pointed out at great length in the fore- 
going chapter that this analogy is to be expected: " Sic 
parvis componere magna solebam." 

It is shameful or exalted just as one chooses, that the 
divine longing of humanity, which is really the first thing 
to make it human, should be brought into connection with 
an erotic phantasy. Such a comparison jars upon the finer 
feelings. Therefore, one is inclined in spite of the un- 
deniable facts to dispute the connection. An Italian 
steersman with brown hair and black moustache, and the 
loftiest, dearest conception of humanity! These two 
things cannot be brought together; against this not only 
our religious feelings revolt, but our taste also rebels. 

It would certainly be unjust to make a comparison of 
the two objects as concrete things since they are so hetero- 
geneous. One loves a Beethoven sonata but one loves 
caviar also. It would not occur to any one to liken the 
sonata to caviar. It is a common error for one to judge 
the longing according to the quality of the object. The 
appetite of the gourmand which is only satisfied with 
goose liver and quail is no more distinguished than the 
appetite of the laboring man for corned beef and cabbage. 
The longing is the same; the object changes. Nature is 
beautiful only by virtue of the longing and love given 
her by man. The aesthetic attributes emanating from 
that has influence primarily on the libido, which alone 
constitutes the beauty of nature. The dream recognizes 
this well when it depicts a strong and beautiful feeling by 


means of a representation of a beautiful landscape. 
Whenever one moves in the territory of the erotic it 
becomes altogether clear how little the object and how 
much the love means. The " sexual object " is as a rule 
overrated far too much and that only on account of the 
extreme degree to which libido is devoted to the object. 

Apparently Miss Miller had but little left over for 
the officer, which is humanly very intelligible. But in 
spite of that a deep and lasting effect emanates from 
this connection which places divinity on a par with the 
erotic object. The moods which apparently are produced 
by these objects do not, however, spring from them, but 
are manifestations of her strong love. When Miss 
Miller praises either God or the sun she means her love, 
that deepest and strongest impulse of the human and 
animal being. 

The reader will recall that in the preceding chapter the 
following chain of synonyms was adduced: the singer 
God of sound singing morning star creator God of 
Light sun fire God of Love. 

At that time we had placed sun and fire in parentheses. 
Now they are entitled to their right place in the chain of 
synonyms. With the changing of the erotic impression 
from the affirmative to the negative the symbols of light 
occur as the paramount object. In the second poem where 
the longing is clearly exposed it is by no means the ter- 
restrial sun. Since the longing has been turned away from 
the real object, its object has become, first of all, a sub- 
jective one, namely, God. Psychologically, however, God 
is the name of a representation-complex which is grouped 


around a strong feeling (the sum of libido). Properly, 
the feeling is what gives character and reality to the com- 
plex. 10 The attributes and symbols of the divinity must 
belong in a consistent manner to the feeling (longing, love, 
libido, and so on). If one honors God, the sun or the 
fire, then one honors one's own vital force, the libido. 
It is as Seneca says : " God is near you, he is with you, in 
you." God is our own longing to which we pay divine 
honors. 11 If it were not known how tremendously sig- 
nificant religion was, and is, this marvellous play with 
one's self would appear absurd. There must be something 
more than this, however, because, notwithstanding its 
absurdity, it is, in a certain sense, conformable to the 
purpose in the highest degree. To bear a God within 
one's self signifies a great deal; it is a guarantee of hap- 
piness, of power, indeed even of omnipotence, as far as 
these attributes belong to the Deity. To bear a God 
within one's self signifies just as much as to be God one's 
self. In Christianity, where, it is true, the grossly sensual 
representations and symbols are weeded out as carefully 
as possible, which seems to be a continuation of the pov- 
erty of symbols of the Jewish cult, there are to be found 
plain traces of this psychology. There are even plainer 
traces, to be sure, in the " becoming-one with God " in 
those mysteries closely related to the Christian, where the 
mystic himself is lifted up to divine adoration through 
initiatory rites. At the close of the consecration into the 
Isis mysteries the mystic was crowned with the palm 
crown, 12 he was placed on a pedestal and worshipped as 
Helios. 13 In the magic papyrus of the Mithraic liturgy 


published by Dieterich there is the ispos \6yo$* of the 
consecrated one: 

eijti ffvjATrhavo? vpiv affrrfp nal ex. rov 

The mystic in religious ecstasies put himself on a plane 
with the stars, just as a saint of the Middle Ages put 
himself by means of the stigmata on a level with Christ. 
St. Francis of Assisi expressed this in a truly pagan man- 
ner, 14 even as far as a close relationship with the brother 
sun and the sister moon. These representations of " be- 
coming-one with God " are very ancient. The old belief 
removed the becoming-one with God until the time after 
death; the mysteries, however, suggest this as taking 
place already in this world. A very old text brings most 
beautifully before one this unity with God; it is the song 
of triumph of the ascending soul. 15 

" I am the God Atum, I who alone was. 
I am the God Re at his first splendor. 
I am the great God, self -created, God of Gods, 
To whom no other God compares." 

" I was yesterday and know tomorrow ; the battle-ground of 
Gods was made when I spoke. I know the name of that 
great God who tarries therein. 

" I am that great Phoenix who is in Heliopolis, who there 
keeps account of all there is, of all that exists. 

" I am the God Min, at his coming forth, who placed the 
feathers upon my head. 16 

" I am in my country, I come into my city. Daily I am to- 
gether with my father Atum. 17 

* Sacred word. 

1 1 am a star wandering about with you, and flaming up from the depths. 


" My impurity is driven away, and the sin which was in me 
is overcome. I washed myself in those two great pools of water 
which are in Heracleopolis, in which is purified the sacrifice of 
mankind for that great God who abideth there. 

" I go on my way to where I wash my head in the sea of the 
righteous. I arrive at this land of the glorified, and enter 
through the splendid portal. 

" Thou, who standest before me, stretch out to me thy hands, 
it is I, I am become one of thee. Daily am I together with my 
Father A turn." 

The identification with God necessarily has as a result 
the enhancing of the meaning and power of the indi- 
vidual. 18 That seems, first of all, to have been really its 
purpose: a strengthening of the individual against his 
all too great weakness and insecurity in real life. This 
great megalomania thus has a genuinely pitiable back- 
ground. The strengthening of the consciousness of 
power is, however, only an external result of the " becom- 
ing-one with God." Of much more significance are the 
deeper-lying disturbances in the realm of feeling. Who- 
ever introverts libido that is to say, whoever takes it 
away from a real object without putting in its place a real 
compensation is overtaken by the inevitable results of 
introversion. The libido, which is turned inward into the 
subject, awakens again from among the sleeping remem- 
brances one which contains the path upon which earlier 
the libido once had come to the real object. At the 
very first and in foremost position it was father and 
mother who were the objects of the childish love. They 
are unequalled and imperishable. Not many difficulties 
are needed in an adult's life to cause those memories to 


reawaken and to become effectual. In religion the re- 
gressive reanimation of the father-and-mother imago is 
organized into a system. The benefits of religion are the 
benefits of parental hands; its protection and its peace 
are the results of parental care upon the child; its mystic 
feelings are the unconscious memories of the tender 
emotions of the first childhood, just as the hymn ex- 
presses it: 

" I am in my country, I come into my city. Daily am I to- 
gether with my father Atum." 19 

The visible father of the world is, however, the sun, 
the heavenly fire; therefore, Father, God, Sun, Fire are 
d^ythologically synonymous. The well-known fact* that 

tthe sun's strength the great generative power of nature 
honored shows plainly, very plainly, to any one to whom 
as yet it may not be clear that in the Deity man honors 
his own libido, and naturally in the form of the image or 
symbol of the present object of transference. This 
symbol faces us in an especially marked manner in the 
third Logos of the Dieterich papyrus. After the second 
prayer 20 stars come from the disc of the sun to the mystic, 
u five-pointed, in quantities, filling the whole air. If the 
sun's disc has expanded, you will see an immeasurable 
circle, and fiery gates which are shut off." The mystic 
utters the following prayer : 

'EnaKOVGov jtov, OLKOVGOV fjiov o GvvSrfGa? nvevfian 
ra nvpiva nteWpa rov ovpavov, SiGoojJiaroZ 7tvpi7ro\, 

(pGOTOZ HTlffTOi 7tVpl7tVOy TtVpiQvfjie, 71 'VeVfJLOttO $)(&)$, TtVpl- 

X<*pijy HaXhicpcjZ, cpoor OH par copy TrvpiffcojAare, (pooToSoTaty 
TrvpiGTtope, Ttvpiiikovs, (pooro/Sie, nvpidiva, q)G3TOKivfJTa, 

HfpavvoH\6ve, (pooro? 

The invocation is, as one sees, almost inexhaustible in 
light and fire attributes, and can be likened in its extrava- 
gance only to the synonymous attributes of love of the 
mystic of the Middle Ages. Among the innumerable 
texts which might be used as an illustration of this, I 
select a passage from the writings of Mechtild von 
Magdeburg (1212-1277): 

" O Lord, love me excessively and love me often and long ; 
the oftener you love me, so much the purer do I become; the 
more excessively you love me, the more beautiful I become; 
the longer you love me, the more holy will I become here upon 

God answered: "That I love you often, that I have from my 
nature, for I myself am love. That I love you excessively, that 
I have from my desire, for I too desire that men love me exces- 
sively. That I love you long, that I have from my everlastingness, 
for I am without end." ' 

The religious regression makes use indeed of the 
parent image without, however, consciously making it an 
object of transference, for the incest horror 22 forbids 
that. It remains rather as a synonym, for example, of the 
father or of God, or of the more or less personified 
symbol of the sun and fire. 23 Sun and fire that is to say, 

* Hear me, grant me my prayer Binding together the fiery bolts of 
heaven with spirit, two-bodied fiery sky, creator of humanity, fire-breathing, 
fiery-spirited, spiritual being rejoicing in fire, beauty of humanity, ruler of 
humanity of fiery body, light-giver to men, fire-scattering, fire-agitated, life 
of humanity, fire^whirled, mover of men who confounds with thunder, 
famed among men, increasing the human race, enlightening humanity, con- 
queror of stars. 


the fructifying strength and heat are attributes of the 
libido. In Mysticism the inwardly perceived, divine 
vision is often merely sun or light, and is very little, or 
not at all, personified. In the Mithraic liturgy there is 
found, for example, a significant quotation : 

'H 6e nopei'a t&v opajjievaov Bewv 6ia rov SitiHOV, ita- 
rpoS fjiov, Beov (pavrf<jerai.* 

Hildegarde von Bingen (1100-1178) expresses herself 
in the following manner : 24 

" But the light I see is not local, but far off, and brighter than 
the cloud which supports the sun. I can in no way know the 
form of this light since I cannot entirely see the sun's disc. But 
within this light I see at times, and infrequently, another light 
which is called by me the living light, but when and in what 
manner I see this I do not know how to say, and when I see it 
all weariness and need is lifted from me, then too, I feel like a 
simple girl and not like an old woman." 

Symeon, the New Theologian (970-1040), says the 
following : 

" My tongue lacks words, and what happens in me my spirit 
sees clearly but does not explain. It sees the invisible, that 
emptiness of all forms, simple throughout, not complex, and in 
extent infinite. For it sees no beginning, and it sees no end. It 
is entirely unconscious of the meanings, and does not know what 
to call that which it sees. Something complete appears, it seems 
to me, not indeed through the being itself, but through a participa- 
tion. For you enkindle fire from fire, and you receive the whole 
fire; but this remains undiminished and undivided, as before. 
Similarly, that which is divided separates itself from the first; and 
like something corporeal spreads itself into several lights. This, 

*The path of the visible Gods will appear through the sun, the God 
my father. 


however, is something spiritual, immeasurable, indivisible, and in- 
exhaustible. For it is not separated when it becomes many, but 
remains undivided and is in me, and enters within my poor heart 
like a sun or circular disc of the sun, similar to the light, 
for it is a light." 26 

That that thing, perceived as inner light, as the sun of 
the other world, is longing, is clearly shown by Symeon's 
words : 26 

" And following It my spirit demanded to embrace the splendor 
beheld, but it found It not as creature and did not succeed in 
coming out from among created beings, so that it might embrace 
that uncreated and uncomprehended splendor. Nevertheless it 
wandered everywhere, and strove to behold It. // penetrated the 
air, it wandered over the Heavens, it crossed over the abysses, it 
searched, as it seemed to it, the ends of the world." But in all 
of that it found nothing, for all was created. And I lamented 
and was sorrowful, and my breast burned, and I lived as one 
distraught in mind. But It came, as It would, and descending 
like a luminous mystic cloud, It seemed to envelop my whole head so 
that dismayed I cried out. But flying away again It left me alone. 
And when I, troubled, sought for It, I realized suddenly that It 
was in me, myself, and in the midst of my heart It appeared as 
the light of a spherical sun!' 

In Nietzsche's " Glory and Eternity " we meet with an 
essentially similar symbol: 

" Hush ! I see vastness ! and of vasty things 
Shall man be done, unless he can enshrine 
Them with his words? Then take the night which brings 
The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom mine! 

" I look above, there rolls the star-strewn sea. 
O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars! 
And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars 
A shining constellation falls towards me." * 
* Translated by Dr. T. G. Wrench. 


It is not astonishing if Nietzsche's great inner loneli- 
ness calls again into existence certain forms of thought 
which the mystic ecstasy of the old cults has elevated to 
ritual representation. In the visions of the Mithraic 
liturgy we have to deal with many similar representations 
which we can now understand without difficulty as the 
ecstatic symbol of the libido : 

Msra 6e TO sineiv ffs rov devrspov \6yov, OTTOV Gtyrf 
6iZ nal rot dnohovBa, ffvpiffov diZ nal nonnvGov #k Hal 
v6eGo? oipei onto rov diGnov dffrepa? Tfpoffspxo^vov? irev- 
radaHTvXiaiov? nheiGrovS Hal nm\<avra$ Q\OV rov aepa. 
2v 6e na\iv Xsys: Giyrj, Giyij. Kal rov diffnov avoiyevros 
oipei aTceipor HVH\oo^a Hal Ovpa$ TtvpivaS d 

Silence is commanded, then the vision of light is re- 
vealed. The similarity of the mystic's condition and 
Nietzsche's poetical vision is surprising. Nietzsche says 
" constellation." It is well known that constellations are 
chiefly therio- or anthropo-morphic symbols. 

The papyrus says, affrepae 7tvra6aHrv\iaiovs\ (sim- 
ilar to the "rosy-fingered" Eos), which is nothing else 
than an anthropomorphic image. Accordingly, one may 
expect from that, that by long gazing a living being 
would be formed out of the " flame image," a " star 
constellation " of therio- or anthropo-morphic nature, for 
the symbolism of the libido does not end with sun, light 

* After you have said the second prayer, when silence is twice com- 
manded; then whistle twice and snap twice, 28 and straightway you will 
see many five-pointed stars coming down from the sun and filling the whole 
lower air. But say once again Silence! Silence! and you, Neophyte, will 
see the Circle and fiery doors cut off from the opening disc of the sun. 

t Five-fingered stars. 


and fire, but makes use of wholly other means of expres- 
sion. I yield precedence to Nietzsche: 

The Beacon * 

" Here, where the island grew amid the seas, 
A sacrificial rock high-towering, 
Here under darkling heavens, 
Zarathustra lights his mountain-fires. 

" These flames with grey-white belly, 
In cold distances sparkle their desire, 
Stretches its neck towards ever purer heights 
A snake upreared in impatience: 

" This signal I set up there before me. 
This flame is mine own soul, 
Insatiable for new distances, 
Speeding upward, upward its silent heat. 

"At all lonely ones I now throw my fishing rod. 
Give answer to the flame's impatience, 
Let me, the fisher on high mountains, 
Catch my seventh, last solitude! " 

Here libido becomes fire, flame and snake. The 
Egyptian symbol of the "living disc of the sun," the disc 
with the two entwining snakes, contains the combination 
of both the libido analogies. The disc of the sun with 
its fructifying warmth is analogous to the fructifying 
warmth of love. The comparison of the libido with sun 
and fire is in reality analogous. 

There is also a " causative " element in it, for sun and 
fire as beneficent powers are objects of human love; for 
example, the sun-hero Mithra is called the u well- 

* " Ecce Homo," translated by A. M. Ludovici. 


beloved." In Nietzsche's poem the comparison is also a 
causative one, but this time in a reversed sense. The 
comparison with the snake is unequivocally phallic, cor- 
responding completely with the tendency in antiquity, 
which was to see in the symbol of the phallus the quintes- 
sence of life and fruitfulness. The phallus is the source 
of life and libido, the great creator and worker of 
miracles, and as such it received reverence everywhere. 
We have, therefore, three designating symbols of the 
libido: First, the comparison by analogy, as sun and 
fire. Second, the comparisons based on causative rela- 
tions, as A : Object comparison. The libido is designated 
by its object, for example, the beneficent sun. B : The sub- 
ject comparison, in which the libido is designated by its 
place of origin or by analogies of this, for example, by 
phallus or (analogous) snake. 

To these two fundamental forms of comparison still a 
third is added, in which the " tertium comparationis " is 
the activity; for example, the libido is dangerous when 
fecundating like the bull through the power of its pas- 
sion like the lion, like the raging boar when in heat, like 
the ever-rutting ass, and so on. 

This activity comparison can belong equally well to the 
category of the analogous or to the category of the causa- 
tive comparisons. The possibilities of comparison mean 
just as many possibilities for symbolic expression, and 
from this basis all the infinitely varied symbols, so far 
as they are libido images, may properly be reduced to a 
very simple root, that is, just to libido and its fixed 
primitive qualities. This psychologic reduction and sim- 


plification is in accordance with the historic efforts of civil- 
ization to unify and simplify, to syncretize, the endless 
number of the gods. We come across this desire as far 
back as the old Egyptians, where the unlimited polytheism 
as exemplified in the numerous demons of places finally 
necessitated simplification. All the various local gods, 
Amon of Thebes, Horus of Edfu, Horus of the East, 
Chnum of Elephantine, Atum of Heliopolis, and others, 29 
became identified with the sun God Re. In the hymns to 
the sun the composite being Amon-Re-Harmachis-Atum 
was invoked as " the only god which truly lives." 30 

Amenhotep IV (XVIII dynasty) went the furthest 
in this direction. He replaced all former gods by the 
" living great disc of the sun," the official title reading: 

" The sun ruling both horizons, triumphant in the horizon in 
his name; the glittering splendor which is in the sun's disc." 

" And, indeed," Erman adds, 31 " the sun, as a God, 
should not be honored, but the sun itself as a planet which 
imparts through its rays 32 the infinite life which is in it 
to all living creatures." 

Amenhotep IV by his reform completed a work which 
is psychologically important. He united all the bull, 33 
ram, 34 crocodile 35 and pile-dwelling ' 36 gods into the disc 
of the sun, and made it clear that their various attributes 
were compatible with the sun's attributes. 37 A similar 
fate overtook the Hellenic and Roman polytheism 
through the syncretistic efforts of later centuries. The 
beautiful prayer of Lucius 38 to the queen of the Heavens 
furnishes an important proof of this: 


" Queen of Heaven, whether thou art the genial Ceres, the 
prime parent of fruits; or whether thou art celestial Venus; or 
whether thou art the sister of Phoebus ; or whether thou art Pros- 
erpina, terrific with midnight howlings with that feminine 
brightness of thine illuminating the walls of every city." ' 

This attempt to gather again into a few units the re- 
ligious thoughts which were divided into countless varia- 
tions and personified in individual gods according to 
their polytheistic distribution and separation makes clear 
the fact that already at an earlier time analogies had 
formally arisen. Herodotus is rich in just such refer- 
ences, not to mention the systems of the Hellenic-Roman 
world. Opposed to the endeavor to form a unity there 
stands a still stronger endeavor to create again and again 
a multiplicity, so that even in the so-called severe mono- 
theistic religions, as Christianity, for example, the polythe- 
istic tendency is irrepressible. The Deity is divided into 
three parts at least, to which is added the feminine Deity 
of Mary and the numerous company of the lesser gods, 
the angels and saints, respectively. These two tendencies 
are in constant warfare. There is only one God with 
countless attributes, or else there are many gods who are 
then simply known differently, according to locality, and 
personify sometimes this, sometimes that attribute of the 
fundamental thought, an example of which we have seen 
above in the Egyptian gods. 

With this we turn once more to Nietzsche's poem, 
" The Beacon." We found the flame there used as an 
image of the libido, theriomorphically represented as a 
snake (also as an image of the soul: 40 "This flame is 


mine own soul "). We saw that the snake is to be taken 
as a phallic image of the libido (upreared in impatience) , 
and that this image, also an attribute of the conception of 
the sun (the Egyptian sun idol), is an image of the 
libido in the combination of sun and phallus. It is not 
a wholly strange conception, therefore, that the sun's 
disc is represented with a penis, as well as with hands and 
feet. We find proof for this idea in a peculiar part of 
the Mithraic liturgy : o^oioa? 6e nal 6 HaXovpevoS avko?, 
rf dpxrj *ov \eirovpyovvro? avejuov. "Otyei yap dno rov 
diffKOV (&? av\ov jtpenajJLevov.* 

This extremely important vision of a tube hanging 
down from the sun would produce in a religious text, such 
as that of the Mithraic liturgy, a strange and at the same 
time meaningless effect if it did not have the phallic mean- 
ing. The tube is the place of origin of the wind. The 
phallic meaning seems very faint in this idea, but one 
must remember that the wind, as well as the sun, is a 
fructifier and creator. This has already been pointed out 
in a footnote. 41 There is a picture by a Germanic painter 
of the Middle Ages of the " conceptio immaculata " 
which deserves mention here. The conception is repre- 
sented by a tube or pipe coming down from heaven and 
passing beneath the skirt of Mary. Into this flies the 
Holy Ghost in the form of a dove for the impregnation 
of the Mother of God. 42 

Honegger discovered the following hallucination in an 
insane man (paranoid dement) : The patient sees in the 

* In like manner the so-called tube, the origin of the ministering wind, 
will become visible. For it will appear to you as a tube hanging down 
from the sun. 



sun an " upright tail " similar to an erected penis. When 
he moves his head back and forth, then, too, the sun's 
penis sways back and forth in a like manner, and out of 
that the wind arises. This strange hallucination remained 
unintelligible to us for a long time until I became ac- 
quainted with the Mithraic liturgy and its visions. This 
hallucination threw an illuminating light, as it appears to 
me, upon a very obscure place in the text which immedi- 
ately follows the passage previously cited : 

fis 6 tot pepfj ra xpoS Xifia dxepavrov oiov 

*Edv q HBH\.rjp(a^vo? si? tie ra fiiprj rov aitrj^iaorov 6 

Zrepos, opoi&S ei? ra peprj ra eneivov oipei rrjv dnopopav 


Mead translates this very clearly : 43 

"And towards the regions westward, as though it were an 
infinite Eastwind. But if the other wind, towards the regions 
of the East, should be in service, in the like fashion shalt thou 
see towards the regions of that side the converse of the sight" 

In the original opajjia is the vision, the thing seen. 
drtoipopd means properly the carrying away. The 
sense of the text, according to this, might be: the thing 
seen may be carried or turned sometimes here, sometimes 
there, according to the direction of the wind. The 
opafia is the tube, " the place of origin of the wind," 
which turns sometimes to the east, sometimes to the west, 
and, one might add, generates the corresponding wind. 
The vision of the insane man coincides astonishingly with 
this description of the movement of the tube. 44 


The various attributes of the sun, separated into a 
series, appear one after the other in the Mithraic 
liturgy. According to the vision of Helios, seven 
maidens appear with the heads of snakes, and seven gods 
with the heads of black bulls. 

It is easy to understand the maiden as a symbol of the 
libido used in the sense of causative comparison. The 
snake in Paradise is usually considered as feminine, as the 
seductive principle in woman, and is represented as femi- 
nine by the old artists, although properly the snake has a 
phallic meaning. Through a similar change of meaning 
the snake in antiquity becomes the symbol of the earth, 
which on its side is always considered feminine. The bull 
is the well-known, symbol for the fruitfulness of the 
sun. The bull gods in the Mithraic liturgy were called 
Hvoo6aKO(pvXaH?y " guardians of the axis of the earth," 
by whom the axle of the orb of the heavens was turned. 
The divine man, Mithra, also had the same attributes; 
he is sometimes called the " Sol invictus " itself, some- 
times the mighty companion and ruler of Helios ; he holds 
in his right hand the " bear constellation, which moves 
and turns the heavens." The bull-headed gods, equally 
tepol nal aXm/toi veaviai with Mithra himself, to 
whom the attribute veatTepos, " young one," " the new- 
comer," is given, are merely attributive components of 
the same divinity. The chief god of the Mithraic liturgy 
is himself subdivided into Mithra and Helios; the attri- 
butes of each of these are closely related to the other. 
Of Helios it is said: oipei Otov veaorepov eveitifj nvpivo- 



Of Mithra it is said: o^ei 6eov V7teppeye8rj, cpconvrjv 

nai xpv<f<p ffrscpdvcp HOI dvagvpiai, Harfyovra rfj Ssgia 
X*tpt j*6ffX ov &JAOV xpuffzov, oZ lanv dpnro? rf nivovaa 
Hal dvriffTpetpovffa rov ovpavov, Hard Spar avartoXev- 
nai Haranokevovffa. STteira otpsi avrov IK rear 
dffrpajfd? nal SH rov Goj^aroS affrepa? dA.\oj*e- 
. f 

If we place fire and gold as essentially similar, then a 
great accord is found in the attributes of the two gods. 
To these mystical pagan ideas there deserve to be added 
the probably almost contemporaneous vision of Revela- 

" And being turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks. And 
in the midst of the candlesticks 45 one like unto the son of man, 
clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about at the 
breasts with a golden girdle. And his head and his hair were 
white as white wool, white as snow, and his eyes were as a flame 
of fire. And his feet like unto burnished brass, as if it had been 
refined in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters. 
And he had in his right hand seven stars, 46 and out of his mouth 
proceeded a sharp two-edged sword, 47 and his countenance was 
as the sun shineth in his strength." Rev. i: 12 if. 

" And I looked, and beheld a white cloud, and upon the cloud 

* " You will see the god youthful, graceful, with glowing locks, in a 
white garment and a scarlet cloak, with a fiery helmet." 

t"You will see a god very powerful, with a shining countenance, 
young, with golden hair, clothed in white vestments, with a golden 
crown, holding in his right hand a bullock's golden shoulder, that is, the 
bear constellation, which wandering hourly up and down, moves and 
turns the heavens: then out of his eyes you will see lightning spring forth 
and from his body, stars." 


I saw one sitting like unto the son of man, having on his head a 
golden crown, and in his hand a sharp sickle." 48 Rev. xiv: 14. 

" And his eyes were as a flame of fire, and upon his head were 
many diadems. And he was arrayed in a garment 49 sprinkled 
with blood. . . . And the armies which were in heaven followed 
him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, 50 white and pure. 
And out of his mouth proceeded a sharp sword." Rev. xix: 

One need not assume that there is a direct dependency 
between the Apocalypse and the Mithraic liturgy. The 
visionary images of both texts are developed from a 
source, not limited to one place, but found in the soul 
of many divers people, because the symbols which arise 
from it are too typical for it to belong to one individual 
only. I put these images here to show how the primitive 
symbolism of light gradually developed, with the increas- 
ing depth of the vision, into the idea of the sun-hero, the 
" well-beloved." 51 The development of the symbol of 
light is thoroughly typical. In addition to this, perhaps 
I might call to mind the fact that I have previously 
pointed out this course with numerous examples, 52 and, 
therefore, I can spare myself the trouble of returning to 
this subject. 53 These visionary occurrences are the psy- 
chological roots of the sun-coronations in the mysteries. 
Its rite is religious hallucination congealed into liturgical 
form, which, on account of its great regularity, could be- 
come a generally accepted outer form. After all this, it 
is easily understood how the ancient Christian Church, on 
one side, stood in an especial bond to Christ as " sol 
novus," and, on the other side, had a certain difficulty in 
freeing itself from the earthly symbols of Christ. Indeed 



Philo of Alexandria saw in the sun the image of the divine 
logos or of the Deity especially (" De Somniis," i : 85). 
In an Ambrosian hymn Christ is invoked by " O sol 
salutis," and so on. At the time of Marcus Aurelius, 
Meliton, in his work, 54 nepl hovrpov, called Christ the 
"HXioS dvaroXrjS . . . jtovoS ri\io$ ovroZ avereikev art 1 

Still more important is a passage from Pseudo-Cyp- 
rian: 55 

" O quam praeclara providentia ut illo die quo factus est sol, 
in ipso die nasceretur Christus, v. Kal. Apr. feria IV, et ideo 
de ipso ad plebem dicebat Malachias propheta: * Orietur vobis 
sol iustitiae et curatio est in pennis ejus,' hie est sol iustitiae cuis 
in pennis curatio praeostendebatur." f 66 

In a work nominally attributed to John Chrysostomus, 
" De Solstitiis et Aequinoctiis," 5T occurs this passage: 

" Sed et dominus nascitur mense Decembri hiemis tempore, 
VIII. Kal. Januarias, quando oleae maturae praemuntur ut unctio, 
id est Chrisma, nascatur sed et Invicti natalem appellant. Quis 
utique tarn invictus nisi dominus noster qui mortem subactam 
devicit? Vel quod dicant Solis esse natalem, ipse est sol iustitiae, 
de quo Malachias propheta dixit: * Dominus lucis ac noctis con- 
ditor et discretor qui a phopheta Sol iustitiae cognominatus est.' " J 

* Helios, the rising sun the only sun rising from heaven! 

t " O, how remarkable a providence that Christ should be born on the 
same day on which the sun moves onward, V. Kal. of April the fourth 
holiday, and for this reason the prophet Malachi spoke to the people 
concerning Christ: 'Unto you shall the sun of righteousness arise with 
healing in his wings, this is the sun of righteousness in whose wings heal- 
ing shall be displayed.'" 

$ Moreover the Lord is born in the month of December in the winter on 
the 8th Kal. of January when the ripe olives are gathered, so that the oil, 
that is the chrism, may be produced, moreover they call it the birthday of 
the Unconquered One. Who in any case is as unconquered as our Lord, 
who conquered death itself? Or why should they call it the birthday of 


According to the testimony of Eusebius of Alexandria, 
the Christians also shared in the worship of the rising 
sun, which lasted into the fifth century : 

ovai roi? TfpoffHVvovfft rov faiov Hal rrjv ffs\^vrfv Hal 
rovS dffrepa?. JZoAAoi)? yap oida rovZ itpoGHVvovvra? Hal 
evxofASvovZ sis rov TJ\IOV. "Hdrj yap avarsiXavro? rov 
rj\iov, TtpoGsvxovrai Hai hfyovffiv "'EXerjffov rjfjiaS" Hal ov 
fjLovov t H\ioyvGo<srai nal aiperiHol rovro Ttoiovffiv aX\.a 
nal xpiGnavol nai dcpevres rrjv nienv roiS aipennois 

Augustine preached emphatically to the Christians: 

" Non est Dominus Sol factus sed per quern Sol factus est ne 
quis carnaliter sapiens Solem istum (Christum) intelligendum 

Art has preserved much of the remnants of sun- 
worship, 58 thus the nimbus around the head of Christ and 
the halo of the saints in general. The Christian legends 
also attribute many fire and light symbols to the saints. 59 
The twelve apostles, for example, are likened to the 
twelve signs of the zodiac, and are represented, there- 
fore, with a star over the head. 60 

It is not to be wondered at that the heathen, as Ter- 
tullian avows, considered the sun as the Christian God. 

the sun ; he himself is the sun of righteousness, concerning whom Malachi, 
the prophet, spoke: 'The Lord is the author of light and of darkness, he 
is the judge spoken of by the prophet as the Sun of righteousness.' " 

* " Ah ! woe to the worshippers of the sun and the moon and the stars. 
For I know many worshippers and prayer sayers to the sun. For now 
at the rising of the sun, they worship and say, ' Have mercy on us,' and 
not only the sun-gnostics and the heretics do this, but also Christians 
who leave their faith and mix with the heretics." 


Among the Manichaeans God was really the sun. One 
of the most remarkable works extant, where the Pagan, 
Asiatic, Hellenic and Christian intermingle, is the 
ErjyrjGiS Tie pi TGOV ev IlepGidi TfpaxOsrtoov^ edited .by 
Wirth. 61 This is a book of fables, but, nevertheless^ a 
mine for near-Christian phantasies, which gives a pro- 
found insight into Christian symbolism. In this is found 
the following magical dedication : 4il 'Hhicp 6e& peydXcp 
fiaGiXfi 'IrjGov * In certain parts of Armenia the 
rising sun is still worshipped by Christians, that " it 
may let its foot rest upon the faces of the wor- 
shippers." 62 The foot occurs as an anthropomorphic at- 
tribute, and we have already met the theriomorphic 
attribute in the feathers and the sun phallus. Other com- 
parisons of the sun's ray, as knife, sword, arrow, and so 
on, have also, as we have learned from the psychology 
of the dream, a phallic meaning at bottom. This mean- 
ing is attached to the foot as I here point out, 63 and also 
to the feathers, or hair, of the sun, which signify the 
power or strength of the sun. I refer to the story of 
Samson, and to that of the Apocalypse of Baruch, con- 
cerning the phoenix bird, which, flying before the sun, loses 
its feathers, and, exhausted, is strengthened again in an 
ocean bath at evening. 

Under the symbol of " moth and sun " we have dug 
down into the historic depths of the soul, and in doing 
this we have uncovered an old buried idol, the youthful, 
beautiful, fire-encircled and halo-crowned sun-hero, who, 
forever unattainable to the mortal, wanders upon the 

*"To Zeus, the Great Sun God, the King, the Saviour." 


earth, causing night to follow day; winter, summer; death, 
life; and who returns again in rejuvenated splendor and 
gives light to new generations. The longing of the 
dreamer concealed behind the moth stands for him. 

The ancient pre-Asiatic civilizations were acquainted 
with a sun-worship having the idea of a God dying and 
rising again (Osiris, Tammuz, Attis-Adonis), 64 Christ, 
Mithra and his bull, 65 Phoenix and so on. The beneficent 
power as well as the destroying power was worshipped in 
fire. The forces of nature always have two sides, as we 
have already seen in the God of Job. This reciprocal 
bond brings us back once more to Miss Miller's poem. 
Her reminiscences support our previous supposition, that 
the symbol of moth and sun is a condensation of two 
ideas, about one of which we have just spoken ; the other 
is the moth and the flame. As the title of a play, about 
the contents of which the author tells us absolutely noth- 
ing, " Moth and Flame " may easily have the well-known 
erotic meaning of flying around the flame of passion until 
one's wings are burned. The passionate longing, that is 
to say, the libido, has its two sides; it is power which 
beautifies everything, and which under other circum- 
stances destroys everything. It often appears as if one 
could not accurately understand in what the destroying 
quality of the creative power consists. A woman who 
gives herself up to passion, particularly under the present- 
day condition of culture, experiences the destructive side 
only too soon. One has only to imagine one's self a little 
away from the every-day moral conditions in order to 
understand what feelings of extreme insecurity overwhelm 


the individual who gives himself unconditionally over to 

To be fruitful means, indeed, to destroy one's self, be- 
cause with the rise of the succeeding generation the pre- 
vious one has passed beyond its highest point; thus our 
descendants are our most dangerous enemies, whom we 
cannot overcome, for they will outlive us, and, there- 
fore, without fail, will take the power from our en- 
feebled hands. The anxiety in the face of the erotic fate 
is wholly understandable, for there is something immeas- 
urable therein. Fate usually hides unknown dangers, and 
the perpetual hesitation of the neurotic to venture upon 
life is easily explained by his desire to be allowed to stand 
still, so as not to take part in the dangerous battle of life. 66 
Whoever renounces the chance to experience must stifle 
in himself the wish for it, and, therefore, commits a sort 
of self-murder. From this the death phantasies which 
readily accompany the renunciation of the erotic wish 
are made clear. In the poem Miss Miller has voiced 
these phantasies. 

She adds further to the material with the following: 

" I had been reading a selection from one of Byron's poems 
which pleased me very much and made a deep and lasting im- 
pression. Moreover, the rhythm of my last two verses, * For I 
the source, etc.,' and the two lines of Byron's are very similar. 

' Now let me die as I have lived in faith, 
Nor tremble though the universe should quake.' " 

This reminiscence with which the series of ideas is 
closed confirms the death phantasies which follow from 


renunciation of the erotic wish. The quotation comes 
which Miss Miller did not mention from an uncompleted 
poem of Byron's called " Heaven and Earth." 67 The 
whole verse follows: 

" Still blessed be the Lord, 
For what is passed, 
For that which is; 
For all are His, 
From first to last 

Time Space Eternity Life Death 
The vast known and immeasurable unknown 
He made and can unmake, 
And shall I for a little gasp of breath 
Blaspheme and groan? 
No, let me die as I have lived in faith, 
Nor quiver though the universe may quake ! " 

The words are included in a kind of praise or prayer, 
spoken by a " mortal " who is in hopeless flight before 
the mounting deluge. Miss Miller puts herself in the 
same situation in her quotation ; that is to say, she readily 
lets it be seen that her feeling is similar to the despond- 
ency of the unhappy ones who find themselves hard 
pressed by the threatening mounting waters of the deluge. 
With this the writer allows us a deep look into the dark 
abyss of her longing for the sun-hero. We see that her 
longing is in vain; she is a mortal, only for a short time 
borne upwards into the light by means of the highest 
longing, and then sinking to death, or, much more, urged 
upwards by the fear of death, like the people before the 
deluge, and in spite of the desperate conflict, irretriev- 
ably given over to destruction. This is a mood which re- 


calls vividly the closing scene in " Cyrano de Ber- 
gerac": 68 

Cyrano : 

Oh, mais . . . puisqu'elle est en chemin, 
Je Tattendrai debout . . . et Tepee a la main. 

Que dites-vous? . . . C'est inutile? Je le sais. 

Mais on ne se bat pas dans Fespoir du succes. 

Non, non. C'est bien plus beau lorsque c'est inutile. 

Je sais bien qu'a la fin vous me mettrez a has. . . . 

We already know sufficiently well what longing and 
what impulse it is that attempts to clear a way for itself 
to the light, but that it may be realized quite clearly and 
irrevocably, it is shown plainly in the quotation " No, let 
me die/' which confirms and completes all earlier remarks. 
The divine, the " much-beloved," who is honored in the 
image of the sun, is also the goal of the longing of our 

Byron's " Heaven and Earth " is a mystery founded on 
the following passage from Genesis, chapter vi : 2 : 
" And it came to pass . . . that the sons of God saw the 
daughters of men that they were fair, and they took 
them wives of all that they chose." Byron offers as a 
further motif for his poem the following passage from 
Coleridge : " And woman walling for her Demon lover." 
Byron's poem is concerned with two great events, one 
psychologic and one telluric; the passion which throws 
down all barriers; and all the terrors of the unchained 
powers of nature : a parallel which has already been in- 
troduced into our earlier discussion. The angels Samiasa 


and Azaziel burn with sinful love for the beautiful 
daughters of Cain, Anah and Aholibama, and force a 
way through the barrier which is placed between mortal 
and immortal. They revolt as Lucifer once did against 
God, and the archangel Raphael raises his voice warn- 
ingly : 

" But man hath listened to his voice 
And ye to woman's beautiful she is, 
The serpent's voice less subtle than her kiss. 
The snake but vanquished dust; but she will draw 
A second host from heaven to break heaven's law." 

The power of God is threatened by the seduction of 
passion; a second fall of angels menaces heaven. Let us 
translate this mythologic projection back into the psycho- 
logic, from whence it originated. Then it would read: 
the power of the good and reasonable ruling the world 
wisely is threatened by the chaotic primitive power of pas- 
sion; therefore passion must be exterminated; that is to 
say, projected into mythology. The race of Cain and 
the whole sinful world must be destroyed from the roots 
by the deluge. It is the inevitable result of that sinful 
passion which has broken through all barriers. Its coun- 
terpart is the sea and the waters of the deep and the 
floods of rain, 69 the generating, fructifying and u mater- 
nal waters," as the Indian mythology refers to them. 
Now they leave their natural bounds and surge over the 
mountain tops, engulfing all living things ; for passion de- 
stroys itself. The libido is God and Devil. With the 
destruction of the sinfulness of the libido an essential 


portion of the libido would be destroyed. Through the 
loss of the Devil, God himself suffered a considerable loss, 
somewhat like an amputation upon the body of the 
Divinity. The mysterious hint in Raphael's lament con- 
cerning the two rebels, Samiasa and Azaziel, suggests 

". . . . Why, 

Cannot this earth be made, or be destroyed, 
Without involving ever some vast void 
In the immortal ranks? . . ." 

Love raises man, not only above himself, but also 
above the bounds of his mortality and earthliness, up to 
divinity itself, and in the very act of raising him it de- 
stroys him. Mythologically, this self-presumption finds 
its striking expression in the building of the heaven-high 
tower of Babel, which brings confusion to mankind. 70 
In Byron's poem it is the sinful ambition of the race of 
Cain, for love of which it makes even the stars sub- 
servient and leads away the sons of God themselves. If, 
indeed, longing for the highest things if I may speak 
so is legitimate, then it lies in the circumstances that it 
leaves its human boundaries, that of sinfulness, and, 
therefore, destruction. The longing of the moth for the 
star is not absolutely pure and transparent, but glows in 
sultry mist, for man continues to be man. Through the 
excess of his longing he draws down the divine into the 
corruption of his passion; 71 therefore, he seems to raise 
himself to the Divine ; but with that his humanity is de- 
stroyed. Thus the love of Anah and Aholibama for their 
angels becomes the ruin of gods and men. The invoca- 


tion with which Cain's daughters implore their angels is 
psychologically an exact parallel to Miss Miller's poem. 


From thy sphere! 
Whatever star 7S contains thy glory. 

In the eternal depths of heaven 
Albeit thou watchest with the ' seven,' 
Though through space infinite and hoary 
Before thy bright wings worlds will be driven, 

Yet hear! 
Oh! think of her who holds thee dear! 

And though she nothing is to thee, 
Yet think that thou art all to her. 

Eternity is in thy years, 

Unborn, undying beauty in thine eyes; 

With me thou canst not sympathize, 

Except in love, and there thou must 

Acknowledge that more loving dust 

Ne'er wept beneath the skies. 

Thou walkest thy many worlds, 74 thou seest 

The face of him who made thee great, 

As he hath made of me the least 

Of those cast out from Eden's gate; 

Yet, Seraph, dear! 

Oh hear! 

For thou hast loved me, and I would not die 
Until I know what I must die in knowing, 
That thou forgettest in thine eternity 
Her whose heart death could not keep from o'erflowing 
For thee, immortal essence as thou art, 76 
Great is their love who love in sin and fear; 
And such, I feel, are waging in my heart 
A war unworthy: to an Adamite 


Forgive, my Seraph! that such thoughts appear. 
For sorrow is our element. . 


The hour is near 
Which tells me we are not abandoned quite. 

Appear ! Appear ! 

Seraph ! 

My own Azaziel ! be but here, 
And leave the stars to their own light. 


I call thee, I await thee and I love thee. 

Though I be formed of clay, 

And thou of beams 76 

More bright than those of day on Eden's streams, 

Thine immortality cannot repay 

With love more warm than mine 

My love. There is a ray " 

In me, which though forbidden yet to shine, 

I feel was lighted at thy God's and mine. 78 

It may be hidden long: death and decay 

Our mother Eve bequeathed us but my heart 

Defies it: though this life must pass away, 

Is that a cause for thee and me to part? 

I can share all things, even immortal sorrow; 

For thou hast ventured to share life with me, 

And shall I shrink from thine eternity? 

No, though the serpent's sting 79 should pierce me through, 

And thou thyself wert like the serpent, coil 

Around me still. 80 And I will smile 

And curse thee not, but hold 

Thee in as warm a fold 

As but descend and prove 

A mortal's love 

For an immortal. . . . 


The apparition of both angels which follows the invo- 
cation is, as always, a shining vision of light. 


The clouds from off their pinions flinging 
As though they bore to-morrow's light. 

But if our father see the sight! 


He would but deem it was the moon 
Rising unto some sorcerer's tune 
An hour too soon. 


Lo ! They have kindled all the west, 
Like a returning sunset. . . . 
On Ararat's late secret crest 
A wild and many colored bow, 
The remnant of their flashing path, 
Now shines ! . . . 

At the sight of this many-colored vision of light, where 
both women are entirely filled with desire and expecta- 
tion, Anah makes use of a simile full of presentiment, 
which suddenly allows us to look down once more into 
the dismal dark depths, out of which for a moment the 
terrible animal nature of the mild god of light emerges. 

"... and now, behold ! it hath 
Returned to night, as rippling foam, 
Which the leviathan hath lashed 
From his unfathomable home, 
When sporting on the face of the calm deep, 
Subsides soon after he again hath dash'd 
Down, down to where the ocean's fountains sleep." 



Thus like the leviathan ! We recall this overpowering 
weight in the scale of God's justice in regard to the man 
Job. There, where the deep sources of the ocean are, the 
leviathan lives; from there the all-destroying flood 
ascends, the all-engulfing flood of animal passion. That 
stifling, compressing feeling 81 of the onward-surging im- 
pulse is projected mythologically as a flood which, rising 
up and over all, destroys all that exists, in order to allow 
a new and better creation to come forth from this de- 


The eternal will 

Shall deign to expound this dream 
Of good and evil; and redeem 
Unto himself all times, all things; 

And, gather'd under his almighty wings, 

Abolish hell! 

And to the expiated Earth 

Restore the beauty of her birth. 

Spirits : 

And when shall take effect this wondrous spell ? 


When the Redeemer cometh ; first in pain 
And then in glory. 


New times, new climes, new arts, new men, but still 

The same old tears, old crimes, and oldest ill, 

Shall be amongst your race in different forms; 

But the same mortal storms 

Shall oversweep the future, as the waves 

In a few hours the glorious giants' graves. 


The prophetic visions of Japhet have almost prophetic 
meaning for our poetess; with the death of the moth in 
the light, evil is once more laid aside; the complex has 
once again, even if in a censored form, expressed itself. 
With that, however, the problem is not solved; all sor- 
row and every longing begins again from the beginning, 
but there is " Promise in the Air " the premonition of 
the Redeemer, of the " Well-beloved," of the Sun-hero, 
who again mounts to the height of the sun and again 
descends to the coldness of the winter, who is the light of 
hope from race to race, the image of the libido. 



BEFORE I enter upon the contents of this second part, it 
seems necessary to cast a backward glance over the sin- 
gular train of thought which the analysis of the poem 
" The Moth to the Sun " has produced. Although this 
poem is very different from the foregoing Hymn of Crea- 
tion, closer investigation of the " longing for the sun " 
has carried us into the realm of the fundamental ideas of 
religion and astral mythology, which ideas are closely 
related to those considered in the first poem. The crea- 
tive God of the first poem, whose dual nature, moral and 
physical, was shown especially clearly to us by Job, has 
in the second poem a new qualification of astral-mytho- 
logical, or, to express it better, of astrological character. 
The God becomes the sun, and in this finds an adequate 
natural expression quite apart from the moral division of 
the God idea into the heavenly father and the devil. 
The sun is, as Renan remarked, really the only rational 
representation of God, whether we take the point of 
view of the barbarians of other ages or that of the modern 
physical sciences. In both cases the sun is the parent God, 
mythologically predominantly the Father God, from 
whom all living things draw life; He is the fructifier and 



creator of all that lives, the source of energy of our 
world. The discord into which the soul of man has fallen 
through the action of moral laws * can be resolved 
into complete harmony through the sun as the natural 
object which obeys no human moral law. The sun is not 
only beneficial, but also destructive; therefore the zodi- 
acal representation of the August heat is.the herd-devour- 
ing lion whom the Jewish hero Samson 2 killed in order to 
free the parched earth from this plague. Yet it is the 
harmonious and inherent nature of the sun to scorch, and 
its scorching power seems natural to men. It shines 
equally on the just and on the unjust, and allows useful 
living objects to flourish as well as harmful ones. There- 
fore, the sun is adapted as is nothing else to represent 
the visible God of this world. That is to say, that driving 
strength of our own soul, which we call libido, and 
whose nature it is to allow the useful and injurious, the 
good and the bad to proceed. That this comparison is no 
mere play of words is taught us by the mystics. When 
by looking inwards (introversion) and going down into 
the depths of their own being they find " in their heart " 
the image of the Sun, they find their own love or libido, 
which with reason, I might say with physical reason, is 
called the Sun; for our source of energy and life is the 
Sun. Thus our life substance, as an energic process, is 
entirely Sun. Of what special sort this " Sun energy " 
seen inwardly by the mystic is, is shown by an example 
taken from the Hindoo mythology. 3 From the explana- 
tion of Part III of the u Shvetashvataropanishad " we 
take the following quotation, which relates to the Rudra : 4 



(2) "Yea, the one Rudra who all these worlds with ruling 
power doth rule, stands not for any second. Behind those that 
are born he stands; at ending time ingathers all the worlds he 
hath evolved, protector (he). 

(3) " He hath eyes on all sides, on all sides surely hath faces, 
arms surely on all sides, on all sides feet. With arms, with wings 
he tricks them out, creating heaven and earth, the only God. 

(4) " Who of the gods is both the source and growth, the Lord 
of all, the Rudra. Mighty seer; who brought the shining germ 
of old into existence may he with reason pure conjoin us." 5 

These attributes allow us clearly to discern the all- 
creator and in him the Sun, which has wings and with a 
thousand eyes scans the world. 6 

The following passages confirm the text and join to it 
the idea most important for us, that God is also contained 
in the individual creature : 

(7) "Beyond this (world) the Brahman beyond, the mighty 
one, in every creature hid according to its form, the one encircling 
Lord of all, Him having known, immortal they become. 

(8) "I know this mighty man, Sun-like, beyond the darkness, 
Him (and him) only knowing, one crosseth over death; no other 
path (at all) is there to go. 

(11) ". . . spread over the universe is He the Lord there- 
fore as all-pervader, He's benign." 

The powerful God, the equal of the Sun, is in that 
one, and whoever knows him is immortal. 7 Going on 
further with the text, we come upon a new attribute, 
which informs us in what form and manner Rudra lived 
in men. 

(12) "The mighty monarch, He, the man, the one who doth 
the essence start towards that peace of perfect stainlessness, lordly, 
exhaustless light. 


(13) "The Man, the size of a thumb, the inner self, sits 
ever in the heart of all that's born, by mind, mind ruling in the 
heart, is He revealed. That they who know, immortal they be- 

(14) "The Man of the thousands of heads (and) thousands 
of eyes (and) thousands of feet, covering the earth on all sides, 
He stands beyond, ten finger-breadths. 

(15) "The Man is verily this all, (both) what has been and 
what will be, Lord (too) of deathlessness which far all else 

Important parallel quotations are to be found in the 
" Kathopanishad," section 2, part 4. 

(12) "The Man of the size of a thumb, resides in the midst 
within the self, of the past and the future, the Lord. 

(13) "The Man of the size of a thumb like flame free from 
smoke, of past and of future the Lord, the same is to-day, to- 
morrow the same will He be." 

Who this Tom-Thumb is can easily be divined the 
phallic symbol of the libido. The phallus is this hero 
dwarf, who performs great deeds; he, this ugly god 
in homely form, who is the great doer of wonders, 
since he is the visible expression of the creative strength 
incarnate in man. This extraordinary contrast is also 
very striking in " Faust" (the mother scene) : 


I'll praise thee ere we separate: I see 
Thou knowest the devil thoroughly: 
Here take this key. 


That little thing! 


Take hold of it, not undervaluing! 


It glows, it shines, increases in my hand! 


How much it is worth, thou soon shalt understand, 
The key will scent the true place from all others! 
Follow it down ! 'twill lead thee to the Mothers ! * 

Here the devil again puts into Faust's hand the mar- 
vellous tool, a phallic symbol of the libido, as once before 
in the beginning the devil, in the form of the black dog, 
accompanied Faust, when he introduced himself with the 
words : 

" Part of that power, not understopd, 
Which always wills the bad and always creates the good." 

United to this strength, Faust succeeded in accomplish- 
ing his real life task, at first through evil adventure and 
then for the benefit of humanity, for without the evil 
there is no creative power. Here in the mysterious 
mother scene, where the poet unveils the last mystery of 
the creative power to the initiated, Faust has need of the 
phallic magic wand (in the magic strength of which he 
has at first no confidence), in order to perform the 
greatest of wonders, namely, the creation of Paris and 
Helen. With that Faust attains the divine power of 
working miracles, and, indeed, only by means of this 
small, insignificant instrument. This paradoxical impres- 
sion seems to be very ancient, for even the Upanishads 
could say the following of the dwarf god : 

* Bayard Taylor's translation of "Faust" is used throughout this book. 


(19) "Without hands, without feet, He moveth, He graspeth: 
Eyeless He seeth, (and) earless He heareth: He knoweth what is 
to be known, yet is there no knower of Him. Him call the first, 
mighty the Man. 

(20) " Smaller than small, (yet) greater than great in the 
heart of this creature the self doth repose . . . etc." 

The phallus is the being, which moves without limbs, 
which sees without eyes, which knows the future; and as 
symbolic representative of the universal creative power 
existent everywhere immortality is vindicated in it. It is 
always thought of as entirely independent, an idea cur- 
rent not only in antiquity, but also apparent in the porno- 
graphic drawings of our children and artists. It is a seer, 
an artist and a worker of wonders; therefore it should 
not surprise us when certain phallic characteristics are 
found again in the mythological seer, artist and sorcerer. 
Hephaestus, Wieland the smith, and Mani, the founder 
of Manicheism, whose followers were also famous, have 
crippled feet. The ancient seer Melampus possessed a 
suggestive name (Blackfoot), 8 and it seems also to be 
typical for seers to be blind. Dwarfed stature, ugliness 
and deformity have become especially typical for those 
mysterious chthonian gods, the sons of Hephaestus, the 
Cabiri, 9 to whom great power to perform miracles was 
ascribed. The name signifies " powerful," and the Samo- 
thracian cult is most intimately united with that of the ithy- 
phallic Hermes, who, according to the account of Herodo- 
tus, was brought to Attica by the Pelasgians. They are 
also called ftsyaXoi Osoi, the great gods. Their near 
relations are the " Idaean dactyli " (finger or Idaean 


thumb) , 10 to whom the mother of the gods had taught the 
blacksmith's art. ("The key will scent the true place 
from all others ! follow it down ! 't will lead thee to the 
Mothers ! ") They were the first leaders, the teachers of 
Orpheus, and invented the Ephesian magic formulas and 
the musical rhythms. 11 The characteristic disparity 
which is shown above in the Upanishad text, and in 
" Faust," is also found heje, since the gigantic Hercules 
passed as an Idaean dactyl. 

The colossal Phrygians, the skilled servants of Rhea, 12 
were also Dactyli. The Babylonian teacher of wisdom, 
Oannes, 13 was represented in a phallic fish form. 1 * The 
two sun heroes, the Dioscuri, stand in relation to the 
Cabiri; 15 they also wear the remarkable pointed head- 
covering (Pileus) which is peculiar to these mysterious 
gods, 16 and which is perpetuated from that time on as a 
secret mark of identification. Attis (the elder brother of 
Christ) wears the pointed cap, just as does Mithra. It 
has also become traditional for our present-day chthonian 
infantile gods, 17 the brownies (Penates), and all the 
typical kind of dwarfs. Freud 18 has already called our at- 
tention to the phallic meaning of the hat in modern phan- 
tasies. A further significance is that probably the pointed 
cap represents the foreskin. In order not to go too far 
afield from my theme, I must be satisfied here merely 
to present the suggestion. But at a later opportunity I 
shall return to this point with detailed proof. 

The dwarf form leads to the figure of the divine boy, 
the pner eternus, the young Dionysus, Jupiter Anxurus, 
Tages, 19 and so on. In the vase painting of Thebes, 


already mentioned, a bearded Dionysus is represented 
as KABEIPO2, together with a figure of a boy as Hois, 
followed by a caricatured boy's figure designated as 
IIPATOAAO2 and then again a caricatured man, which 
is represented as MIT02. Mho? really means thread, 
but in orphic speech it stands for semen. It was con- 
jectured that this collection corresponded to a group of 
statuary in the sanctuary of a cult. This supposition is 
supported by the history of the cult as far as it is known; 
it is an original Phenician cult of father and son ; 21 of 
an old and young Cabir who were more or less assimi- 
lated with the Grecian gods. The double figures of the 
adult and the child Dionysus lend themselves particularly 
to this assimilation. One might also call this the cult 
of the large and small man. Now, under various aspects, 
Dionysus is a phallic god in whose worship the phallus 
held an important place ; for example, in the cult of the 
Argivian Bull Dionysus. Moreover, the phallic herme 
of the god has given occasion for a personification of the 
phallus of Dionysus, in the form of the god Phales, 
who is nothing else but a Priapus. He is called eraipos 
or ffvyH&jtoZ Bdnxov*. 22 Corresponding to this state 
of affairs, one cannot very well fail to recognize in the pre- 
viously mentioned Cabiric representation, and in the 
added boy's figure, the picture of man and his penis. 23 The 
previously mentioned paradox in the Upanishad text 
of large and small, of giant and dwarf, is expressed more 
mildly here by man and boy, or father and son. 24 The 
motive of deformity which is used constantly by the 

* Comrade fellow-reveller. 


Cabiric cult is present also in the vase picture, while the 
parallel figures to Dionysus and Hods are the carica- 
tured Miros and TlparoXaos. Just as formerly the dif- 
ference in size gave occasion for division, so does the 
deformity here. 25 

Without first bringing further proof to bear, I may 
remark that from this knowledge especially strong side- 
lights are thrown upon the original psychologic meaning 
of the religious heroes. Dionysus stands in an intimate 
relation with the psychology of the early Asiatic God 
who died and rose again from the dead and whose mani- 
fold manifestations have been brought together in the 
figure of Christ into a firm personality enduring for cen- 
turies. We gain from our premise the knowledge that 
these heroes, as well as their typical fates, are personi- 
fications of the human libido and its typical fates. They 
are imagery, like the figures of our nightly dreams the 
actors and interpreters of our secret thoughts. And since 
we, in the present day, have the power to decipher the 
symbolism of dreams and thereby surmise the myste- 
rious psychologic history of development of the indi- 
vidual, so a way is here opened to the understanding of 
the secret springs of impulse beneath the psychologic 
development of races. Our previous trains of thought, 
which demonstrate the phallic side of the symbolism of 
the libido, also show how thoroughly justified is the term 
" libido." 26 Originally taken from the sexual sphere, 
this word has become the most frequent technical expres- 
sion of psychoanalysis, for the simple reason that its 
significance is wide enough to cover all the unknown and 


countless manifestations of the Will in the sense of Scho- 
penhauer. It is sufficiently comprehensive and rich in 
meaning to characterize the real nature of the psychical 
entity which it includes. The exact classical significance 
of the word libido qualifies it as an entirely appro- 
priate term. Libido is taken in a very wide sense in 
Cicero : 27 

"(Volunt ex duobus opinatis) bonis (nasci) Libidinem et 
Laetitiam; ut sit laetitia praesentium bonorum: libido futurorum. 
Laetitia autem et Libido in bonorum opinione versantur, cum 
Libido ad id, quod videtur bonum, illecta et inflammata rapiatur. 
Natura enim omnes ea, quae bona videntur, sequuntur, fugi- 
untque contraria. Quamobrem simul objecta species cuiuspiam 
est, quod bonum videatur, ad id adipiscendum impellit ipsa natura. 
Id cum constanter prudenterque fit, ejusmodi appetitionem stoici 
fiovhrjaiv appellant, nos appellamus voluntatem; earn illi putant 
in solo esse sapiente, quam sic definiunt; voluntas est quae quid 
cum ratione desiderat : quae autem ratione adversa incitata est 
vehementius, ea libido est, vel cupiditas effrenata, quae in omnibus 
stultis invenitur." * 

The meaning of libido here is u to wish," and in the 
stoical distinction of will, dissolute desire. Cicero 28 used 
"libido" in a corresponding sense: 

* From the good proceed desire and joy joy having reference to some 
present good, and desire to some future one but joy and desire depend 
upon the opinion of good ; as desire being inflamed and provoked is carried 
on eagerly toward what has the appearance of good, and joy is trans- 
ported and exults on obtaining what was desired: for we naturally pursue 
those things that have the appearance of good, and avoid the con- 
trary wherefore as soon as anything that has the appearance of good 
presents itself, nature incites us to endeavor to obtain it. Now where this 
strong desire is consistent and founded on prudence, it is by the stoics 
called Bulesis and the name which we give it is volition, and this they 
allow to none but their wise men, and define it thus; volition is a reason- 
able desire; but whatever is incited too violently in opposition to reason, 
that is a lust or an unbridled desire which is discoverable in all fools. 
The Tusculan Disputation, Cicero, page 403. 


" Agere rem aliquam libidine, non ratione." * 
In the same sense Sallust says: 

" Iracundia pars est libidinis." 

In another place in a milder and more general sense, 
which completely approaches the analytical use : 

" Magisque in decoris armis et militaribus equis, quam in 
scortis et conviviis libidinem habebant." * 


" Quod si tibi bona libido fuerit patriae, etc." 

The use of libido is so general that the phrase " libido 
est scire " merely had the significance of " I will, it pleases 
me." In the phrase " aliquam libido urinae lacessit " 
libido had the meaning of urgency. The significance of 
sexual desire is also present in the classics. 

This general classical application of the conception 
agrees with the corresponding etymological context of 
the word, libido or lubido (with libet, more ancient 
lubet) , it pleases me, and libens or lubens = gladly, will- 
ingly. Sanskrit, lubhyati = to experience violent longing, 
lobhayati = excites longing, lubdha-h = eager, lobha-h 
longing, eagerness. Gothic = liufs, and Old High Ger- 
man Hob = love. Moreover, in Gothic, lubains was rep- 
resented as hope ; and Old High German, lobon = to 
praise, lob = commendation, praise, glory; Old Bulga- 
rian, ljubiti = to love, ljuby = love ; Lithuanian, lidup- 

* Libido is used for arms and military horses rather than for dissipations 
and banquets. 


sintl to praise. 29 It can be said that the conception 
of libido as developed in the new work of Freud and of 
his school has functionally the same significance in the 
biological territory as has the conception of energy since 
the time of Robert Mayer in the physical realm. 80 It 
may not be superfluous to say something more at this 
point concerning the conception of libido after we have 
followed the formation of its symbol to its highest ex- 
pression in the human form of the religious hero. 



THE chief source of the history of the analytic con- 
ception of libido is Freud's " Three Contributions to the 
Sexual Theory." There the term libido is conceived by 
him in the original narrow sense of sexual impulse, sexual 
need. Experience forces us to the assumption of a 
capacity for displacement of the libido, because functions 
or localizations of non-sexual force are undoubtedly 
capable of taking up a certain amount of libidinous sexual 
impetus, a libidinous afflux. 1 Functions or objects could, 
therefore, obtain sexual value, which under normal cir- 
cumstances really have nothing to do with sexuality. 2 
From this fact results the Freudian comparison of the 
libido with a stream, which is divisible, which can be 
dammed up, which overflows into branches, and so on. 3 
Freud's original conception does not interpret " every- 
thing sexual," although this has been asserted by critics, 
but recognizes the existence of certain forces, the nature 
of which are not well known; to which Freud, however, 
compelled by the notorious facts which are evident to 
any layman, grants the capacity to receive " affluxes of 
libido." The hypothetical idea at the basis is the symbol 
of the " Triebbiindel " 4 (bundle of impulses), wherein 
the sexual impulse figures as a partial impulse of the whole 



system, and its encroachment into the other realms of 
impulse is a fact of experience. The theory of Freud, 
branching off from this interpretation, according to which 
the motor forces of a neurotic system correspond pre- 
cisely to their libidinous additions to other (non-sexual) 
functional impulses, has been sufficiently proven as cor- 
rect, it seems to me, by the work of Freud and his school. 6 
Since the appearance of the " Three Contributions," in 
1905, a change has taken place 6 in the libido conception; 
its field of application has been widened. An extremely 
clear example of this amplification is this present work. 
However, I must state that Freud, as well as myself, 
saw the need of widening the conception of libido. It 
was paranoia, so closely related to dementia praecox, 
which seemed to compel Freud to enlarge the earlier 
limits of the conception. The passage in question, which 
I will quote here, word for word, reads : 7 

" A third consideration which presents itself, in regard to the 
views developed here, starts the query as to whether we should 
accept as sufficiently effectual the universal receding of the libido 
from the outer world, in order to interpret from that, the end of 
the world: or whether in this case, the firmly rooted possession 
of the ' I ' must not suffice to uphold the rapport with the outer 
world. Then one must either let that which we call possession 
of the libido (interest from erotic sources) coincide with interest 
in general, or else take into consideration the possibility that great 
disturbance in the disposition of the libido can also induce a corre- 
sponding disturbance in the possession of the ' I.' Now, these are 
the problems, which we are still absolutely helpless and unfitted 
to answer. Things would be different could we proceed from a 
safe fund of knowledge of instinct. But the truth is, we have 
nothing of that kind at our disposal. We understand instinct 
as the resultant of the reaction of the somatic and the psychic. 


We see in it the psychical representation of organic forces and 
take the popular distinction between the ' I ' impulse and the 
sexual impulse, which appears to us to be in accord with the 
biological double role of the individual being who aspires to his 
own preservation as well as to the preservation of the species. 
But anything beyond this is a structure, which we set up, and 
also willingly let fall again in order to orient ourselves in the 
confusion of the dark processes of the soul ; we expect particularly, 
from the psychoanalytic investigations into diseased soul processes, 
to have certain decisions forced upon us in regard to questions of 
the theory of instinct. This expectation has not yet been fulfilled 
on account of the still immature and limited investigations in these 
fields. At present the possibility of the reaction of libido dis- 
turbance upon the possession of the ' I ' can be shown as little 
as the reverse; the secondary or induced disturbances of the 
libido processes through abnormal changes in the ' I.' It is prob- 
able that processes of this sort form the distinctive character of 
the psychoses. The conclusions arising from this, in relation to 
paranoia, are at present uncertain. One cannot assert that the 
paranoiac has completely withdrawn his interest from the outer 
world, nor withdrawn into the heights of repression, as one some- 
times sees in certain other forms of hallucinatory psychoses. He 
takes notice of the outer world, he takes account of its changes, he 
is stirred to explanations by their influence, and therefore I con- 
sider it highly probable that the changed relation to the world is 
to be explained, wholly or in great part, by the deficiency of the 
libido interest." 

In this passage Freud plainly touches upon the ques- 
tion whether the well-known longing for reality of the 
paranoic dement (and the dementia praecox patients), 8 
to whom I have especially called attention in my book, 
" The Psychology of Dementia Praecox," 9 is to be traced 
back to the withdrawal of the " libidinous affluxes " 
alone, or whether this coincides with the so-called ob- 
jective interest in general. It is hardly to be assumed 


that the normal " fonction du reel " (Janet) 
tained only through affluxes of libido or erotic interest. 
The fact is that in very many cases reality disappears 
entirely, so that not a trace of psychological adaptation 
or orientation can be recognized. Reality is repressed 
under these circumstances and replaced by the contents 
of the complex. One must of necessity say that not only 
the erotic interest but the interest in general has disap- 
peared, that is to say, the whole adaptation to reality has 
ceased. To this category belong the stuporose and cata- 
tonic automatons. 

I have previously made use of the expression " psychic 
energy " in my " Psychology of Dementia Praecox " be- 
cause I was unable to establish the theory of this psy- 
chosis upon the conception of the displacement of the 
affluxes of libido. My experience, at that time chiefly 
psychiatric, did not enable me to understand this theory. 
However, the correctness of this theory in regard to 
neuroses, strictly speaking the transference neuroses, was 
proven to me later after increased experience in the field 
of hysteria and compulsion neuroses. In the territory 
of these neuroses it is mainly a question whether any 
portion of the libido which is spared through the specific 
repression becomes introverted and regressive into 
earlier paths of transference; for example, the path of 
the parental transference. 11 With that, however, the 
former non-sexual psychologic adaptation to the environ- 
ment remains preserved so far as it does not concern the 
erotic and its secondary positions (symptoms). The 
reality which is lacking to the patients is just that portion 


of the libido to be found in the neurosis. In dementia 
praecox, on the contrary, not merely that portion of libido 
which is saved in the well-known specific sexual repression 
is lacking for reality, but much more than one could write 
down to the account of sexuality in a strict sense. The 
function of reality is lacking to such a degree that even 
the motive power must be encroached upon in the loss. 
The sexual character of this must be disputed absolutely, 12 
for reality is not understood to be a sexual function. 
Moreover, if that were so, the introversion of the libido 
in the strict sense must have as a result a loss of reality 
in the neuroses, and, indeed, a loss which could be com- 
pared with that of dementia praecox. These facts have 
rendered it impossible for me to transfer Freud's theory 
of libido to dementia praecox, and, therefore, I am of 
the opinion that Abraham's investigation 13 is hardly ten- 
able theoretically, from the standpoint of the Freudian 
theory of libido. If Abraham believes that through the 
withdrawal of the libido from the outer world the para- 
noid system or the schizophrenic symptomatology results, 
then this assumption is not justified from the standpoint 
of the knowledge of that time, because a mere libido in- 
troversion and regression leads, speedily, as Freud has 
clearly shown, into the neuroses, and, strictly speaking, 
into the transference neuroses, and not into dementia 
praecox. Therefore, the transference of the libido theory 
to dementia praecox is impossible, because this illness 
produces a loss of reality which cannot be explained by 
the deficiency of the libido defined in this narrow sense. 
It affords me especial satisfaction that our teacher also, 


when he laid his hand on the delicate material of the para- 
noic psychology, was forced to doubt the applicability of 
the conception of libido held by him at that time. The 
sexual definition of this did not permit me to understand 
those disurbances of function, which affect the vague ter- 
ritory of the hunger instinct just as much as that of the 
sexual instinct. For a long time the theory of libido 
seemed to me inapplicable to dementia praecox. With 
increasing experience in analytical work, however, I be- 
came aware of a gradual change in my conception of 
libido. In place of the descriptive definition of the 
" Three Contributions " there gradually grew up a genetic 
definition of the libido, which rendered it possible for me 
to replace the expression " psychic energy " by the term 
" libido." I was forced to ask myself whether indeed the 
function of reality to-day does not consist only in its 
smaller part of libido sexualis and in the greater part of 
other impulses? It is still a very important question 
whether phylogenetically the function of reality is not, at 
least in great part, of sexual origin. To answer this ques- 
tion directly in regard to the function of reality is not 
possible, but we shall attempt to come to an understand- 
ing indirectly. 

A fleeting glance at the history of evolution is sufficient 
to teach us that countless complicated functions to which 
to-day must be denied any sexual character were orig- 
inally pure derivations from the general impulse of 
propagation. During the ascent through the animal king- 
dom an important displacement in the fundamentals of 
the procreative instinct has taken place. The mass of 


the reproductive products with the uncertainty of fer- 
tilization has more and more been replaced by a controlled 
impregnation and an effective protection of the offspring. 
In this way part of the energy required in the production 
of eggs and sperma has been transposed into the creation 
of mechanisms for allurement and for protection of the 
young. Thus we discover the first instincts of art in ani- 
mals used in the service of the impulse of creation, and 
limited to the breeding season. The original sexual char- 
acter of these biological institutions became lost in their 
organic fixation and functional independence. Even if 
there can be no doubt about the sexual origin of music, 
still it would be a poor, unaesthetic generalization if one 
were to include music in the category of sexuality. A 
similar nomenclature would then lead us to classify the 
cathedral of Cologne as mineralogy because it is built 
of stones. It can be a surprise only to those to whom the 
history of evolution is unknown to find how few things 
there really are in human life which cannot be reduced in 
the last analysis to the instinct of procreation. It includes 
very nearly everything, I think, which is beloved and dear 
to us. We spoke just now of libido as the creative im- 
pulse and at the same time we allied ourselves with the 
conception which opposes libido to hunger in the same way 
that the instinct of the preservation of the species is 
opposed to the instinct of self-preservation. In nature, 
this artificial distinction does not exist. Here we see only 
a continuous life impulse, a will to live which will attain 
the creation of the whole. species through the preservation 
of the individual. Thus far this conception coincides with 


the idea of the Will in Schopenhauer, for we can conceive 
Will objectively, only as a manifestation of an internal 
desire. This throwing of psychological perceptions into 
material reality is characterized philosophically as u in- 
trojection." (Ferenczi's conception of " introjection " 
denoted the reverse, that is, the taking of the outer world 
into the inner world.) 14 Naturally, the conception of the 
world was distorted by introjection. Freud's conception 
of the principle of desire is a voluntary formulation of the 
idea of introjection, while his once more voluntarily con- 
ceived " principle of reality " corresponds functionally to 
that which I designate as " corrective of reality," and R. 
Avenarius 15 designates as " empiriokritische Prinzipial- 
koordination." The conception of power owes its exist- 
ence to this very introjection; this has already been said 
expressively by Galileo in his remark that its origin is 
to be sought in the subjective perception of the muscular 
power of the individual. Because we have already arrived 
at the daring assumption that the libido, which was em- 
ployed originally in the exclusive service of egg and seed 
production, now appears firmly organized in the function 
of nest-building, and can no longer be employed other- 
wise; similarly this conception forces us to relate it to 
every desire, including hunger. For now we can no longer 
make any essential distinction between the will to build a 
nest and the will to eat. This view brings us to a con- 
ception of libido, which extends over the boundaries of the 
physical sciences into a philosophical aspect to a con- 
ception of the will in general. I must give this bit of 
psychological " Voluntarismus " into the hands of the 


philosophers for them to manage. For the rest I refer 
to the words of Schopenhauer 16 relating to this. In con- 
nection with the psychology of this conception (by which 
I understand neither metapsychology nor metaphysics) I 
am reminded here of the cosmogenic meaning of Eros in 
Plato and Hesiod, 17 and also of the orphic figure of 
Phanes, the " shining one," the first created, the " father 
of Eros." Phanes has also orphically the significance of 
Priapus; he is a god of love, bisexual and similar to the 
Theban Dionysus Lysios. 18 The orphic meaning of 
Phanes is similar to that of the Indian Kama, the god of 
love, which is also the cosmogenic principle. To Plotinus, 
of the Neo-Platonic school, the world-soul is the energy 
of the intellect. 19 Plotinus compares " The One," the crea- 
tive primal principle, with light in general; the intellect 
with the Sun ( $ ) , the world-soul with the moon ( $ ) . 
In another comparison Plotinus compares u The One " 
with the Father, the intellect with the Son. 20 The " One " 
designated as Uranus is transcendent. The son as Kronos 
has dominion over the visible world. The world-soul 
(designated as Zeus) appears as subordinate to him. The 
" One," or the Usia of the whole existence is designated 
by Plotinus as hypostatic, also as the three forms of ema- 
nation, also jJLia ovffia sv rpiaiv vnoGrdaeGtv* As Drews 
observed, this is also the formula of the Christian 
Trinity (God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy 
Ghost) as it was decided upon at the councils of Nicea 
and Constantinople. 21 It may also be noticed that certain 
early Christian sectarians attributed a maternal signifi- 

*One substance in three forms. 


cance to the Holy Ghost (world-soul, moon). (See what 
follows concerning Chi of Timaeus.) According to Plo- 
tinus, the world-soul has a tendency toward a divided 
existence and towards divisibility, the conditio sine qua 
non of all change, creation and procreation (also a ma- 
ternal quality). It is an " unending all of life" and 
wholly energy; it is a living organism of ideas, which 
attain in it effectiveness and reality. 22 The intellect is 
its procreator, its father, which, having conceived it, 
brings it to development in thought. 23 

" What lies enclosed in the intellect, comes to development in 
the world-soul as logos, fills it with meaning and makes it as if 
intoxicated with nectar." 24 

Nectar is analogous to soma, the drink of fertility and 
of life, also to sperma. The soul is fructified by the 
intellect; as oversoul it is called heavenly Aphrodite, as 
the undersoul the earthly Aphrodite. " It knows the birth 
pangs," 25 and so on. The bird of Aphrodite, the dove, 
is not without good cause the symbol of the Holy Ghost. 

This fragment of the history of philosophy, which may 
easily be enlarged, shows the significance of the endo- 
psychic perception of the libido and of its symbolism in 
human thought. 

In the diversity of natural phenomena we see the de- 
sire, the libido, in the most diverse applications and forms. 
We see the libido in the stage of childhood almost wholly 
occupied in the instinct of nutrition, which takes care of 
the upbuilding of the body. With the development of the 
body there are successively opened new spheres of appli- 


cation for the libido. The last sphere of application, and 
surpassing all the others in its functional significance, is 
sexuality, which seems at first almost bound up with the 
function of nutrition. ( Compare with this the influence on 
procreation of the conditions of nutrition in lower ani- 
mals and plants.) In the territory of sexuality, the libido 
wins that formation, the enormous importance of which 
has justified us in the use of the term libido in general. 
Here the libido appears very properly as an impulse of 
procreation, and almost in the form of an undifferentiated 
sexual primal libido, as an energy of growth, which 
clearly forces the individual towards division, budding, 
etc. (The clearest distinction between the two forms of 
libido is to be found among those animals in whom the 
stage of nutrition is separated from the sexual stage by 
a chrysalis stage.) 

From that sexual primal libido which produced millions 
of eggs and seeds from one small creature derivatives 
have been developed with the great limitation of the 
fecundity; derivatives in which the functions are main- 
tained by a special differentiated libido. This differen- 
tiated libido is henceforth desexualized because it is dis- 
sociated from its original function of egg and sperma 
production; nor is there any possibility of restoring it to 
its original function. Thus, in general, the process of 
development consists in an increasing transformation of 
the primal libido which only produced products of 
generation to the secondary functions of allurement and 
protection of the young. This now presupposes a very 
different and very complicated relation to reality, a true 


function of reality, which, functionally inseparable, is 
bound up with the needs of procreation. Thus the altered 
mode of procreation carries with it as a correlate a cor- 
respondingly heightened adaptation to reality. 26 

In this way we attain an insight into certain primitive 
conditions of the function of reality. It would be radically 
wrong to say that its compelling power is a sexual one. 
It was a sexual one to a large extent. The process of 
transformation of the primal libido into secondary im- 
pulses always took place in the form of affluxes of sexual 
libido, that is to say, sexuality became deflected from its 
original destination and a portion of it turned, little by 
little, increasing in amount, into the phylogenetic impulse 
of the mechanisms of allurement and of protection of the 
young. This diversion of the sexual libido from the 
sexual territory into associated functions is still taking 
place. 27 Where this operation succeeds without injury to 
the adaptation of the individual it is called sublimation. 
Where the attempt does not succeed it is called repression. 

The descriptive standpoint of psychology accepts the 
multiplicity of instincts, among which is the sexual instinct, 
as a special phenomenon; moreover, it recognizes certain 
affluxes of libido to non-sexual instincts. 

Quite otherwise is the genetic standpoint. It regards 
the multiplicity of instincts as issuing from a relative 
unity, the primal libido ; 28 it recognizes that definite 
amounts of the primal libido are split off, as it were, asso- 
ciated with the newly formed functions and finally merged 
in them. As a result of this it is impossible, from the 
genetic standpoint, to hold to the strictly limited concep- 


tion of libido of the descriptive standpoint; it leads in- 
evitably to a broadening of the conception. With this we 
come to the theory of libido that I have surreptitiously 
introduced into the first part of this work for the pur- 
pose of making this genetic conception familiar to the 
reader. The explanation of this harmless deceit I have 
saved until the second part. 

For the first time, through this genetic idea of libido, 
which in every way surpasses the descriptive sexual, the 
transference was made possible of the Freudian libido 
theory into the psychology of mental disease. The pas- 
sage quoted above shows how the present Freudian con- 
ception of libido collides with the problem of the 
psychoses. 29 Therefore, when I speak of libido, I asso- 
ciate with it the genetic conception which contains not 
only the immediate sexual but also an amount of desexual- 
ized primal libido. When I say a sick person takes his 
libido away from the outer world, in order to take pos- 
session of the inner world with it, I do not mean that 
he takes away merely the affluxes from the function of 
reality, but he takes energy away, according to my view, 
from those desexualized instincts which regularly and 
properly support the function of reality. 

With this alteration in the libido conception, certain 
parts of our terminology need revision as well. As we 
know, Abraham has undertaken the experiment of trans- 
ferring the Freudian libido theory to dementia praecox 
and has conceived the characteristic lack of rapport and 
the cessation of the function of reality as autoerotism. 
This conception needs revision. Hysterical introversion 


of the libido leads to autoerotism, since the patient's erotic 
afflux of libido designed for the function of adaptation 
is introverted, whereby his ego is occupied by the corre- 
sponding amount of erotic libido. The schizophrenic, 
however, shuns reality far more than merely the erotic 
afflux would account for; therefore, his inner condition is 
very different from that of the hysteric. He is more than 
autoerotic, he builds up an intra-psychic equivalent for 
reality, for which purpose he has necessarily to employ 
other dynamics than that afforded by the erotic afflux. 
Therefore, I must grant to Bleuler the right to reject the 
conception of autoerotism, taken from the study of hys- 
terical neuroses, and there legitimate, and to replace it 
by the conception of autismus. 30 I am forced to say that 
this term is better fitted to facts than autoerotism. With 
this I acknowledge my earlier idea of the identity of 
autismus (Bleuler) and autoerotism (Freud) as unjusti- 
fied, and, therefore, retract it. al This thorough revision 
of the conception of libido has compelled me to this. 

From these considerations it follows necessarily that 
the descriptive psychologic conception of libido must be 
given up in order for the libido theory to be applied to 
dementia praecox. That it is there applicable is best 
shown in Freud's brilliant investigation of Schreber's 
phantasies. The question now is whether this genetic 
conception of libido proposed by me is suitable for the 
neuroses. I believe that this question may be answered 
affirmatively. u Natura non fecit saltum " it is not merely 
to be expected but it is also probable that at least tem- 
porary functional disturbances of various degrees appear 


in the neuroses, which transcend the boundaries of the 
immediate sexual; in any case, this occurs in psychotic 
episodes. I consider the broadening of the conception of 
libido which has developed through the most recent an- 
alytic work as a real advance which will prove of especial 
advantage in the important field of the introversion psy- 
choses. Proofs of the correctness of my assumption are 
already at hand. It has become apparent through a series 
of researches of the Zurich School, which are now pub- 
lished in part, 32 that the phantastic substitution products 
which take the place of the disturbed function of reality 
bear unmistakable traces of archaic thought. This con- 
firmation is parallel to the postulate asserted above, ac- 
cording to which reality is deprived, not merely of an 
immediate (individual) amount of libido, but also of an 
already differentiated or desexualized quantity of libido, 
which, among normal people, has belonged to the function 
of reality ever since prehistoric times. A dropping away 
of the last acquisition of the function of reality (or adapta- 
tion) must of necessity be replaced by an earlier mode of 
adaptation. We find this principle already in the doc- 
trines of the neuroses, that is, that a repression resulting 
from the failure of the recent transference is replaced by 
an old way of transference, namely, through a regressive 
revival of the parent imago. In the transference neurosis 
(hysterical), where merely a part of the immediate 
sexual libido is taken away from reality by the specific 
sexual repression, the substituted product is a phantasy 
of individual origin and significance, with only a trace 
of those archaic traits found in the phantasies of those 


mental disorders in which a portion of the general human 
function of reality organized since antiquity has broken 
off. This portion can be replaced only by a generally 
valid archaic surrogate. We owe a simple and clear ex- 
ample of this proposition to the investigation of Honeg- 
ger. 33 A paranoic of good intelligence who has a clear 
idea of the spherical form of the earth and its rotation 
around the sun replaces the modern astronomical views 
by a system worked out in great detail, which one must 
call archaic, in which the earth is a flat disc over which 
the sun travels. 34 (I am reminded of the sun-phallus 
mentioned in the first part of this book, for which we are 
also indebted to Honegger.) Spielrein has likewise fur- 
nished some very interesting examples of archaic defini- 
tions which begin in certain illnesses to overlay the real 
meanings of the modern word. For example, Spielrein's 
patient had correctly discovered the mythological signifi- 
cance of alcohol, the intoxicating drink, to be " an effusion 
of seed." 35 She also had a symbolism of boiling which I 
must place parallel to the especially important alchemistic 
vision of Zosimos, 36 who found people in boiling water 
within the cavity of the altar. 37 This patient used earth 
in place of mother, and also water to express mother. 38 I 
refrain from further examples because future work of the 
Zurich School will furnish abundant evidence of this sort. 

My foregoing proposition of the replacement of the 
disturbed function of reality by an archaic surrogate is 
supported by an excellent paradox of Spielrein's. She 
says: " I often had the illusion that these patients might 


be simply victims of a folk superstition." As a matter of 
fact, patients substitute phantasies for reality, phantasies 
similar to the actually incorrect mental products of the 
past, which, however, were once the view of reality. As 
the Zosimos vision shows, the old superstitions were sym- 
bols 39 which permitted transitions to the most remote 
territory. This must have been very expedient for cer- 
tain archaic periods, for by this means convenient bridges 
were offered to lead a partial amount of libido over into 
the mental realm. Evidently Spielrein thinks of a similar 
biological meaning of the symbols when she says : 40 

" Thus a symbol seems to me to owe its origin in general to 
the tendency of a complex for dissolution in the common totality 
of thought. . . . The complex is robbed by that of the personal 
element. . . . This tendency towards dissolution (transforma- 
tion) of every individual complex is the motive for poetry, paint- 
ing, for every sort of art." 

When here we replace the formal conception " com- 
plex " by the conception of the quantity of libido (the 
total effect of the complex) , which, from the standpoint of 
the libido theory, is a justified measure, then does Spiel- 
rein's view easily agree with mine. When primitive man 
understands in general what an act of generation is, then, 
according to the principle of the path of least resistance, 
he never can arrive at the idea of replacing the generative 
organs by a sword-blade or a shuttle ; but this is the case 
with certain Indians, who explain the origin of mankind 
by the union of the two transference symbols. He then 
must be compelled to devise an analogous thing in order to 
bring a manifest sexual interest upon an asexual expres- 


sion. The propelling motive of this transition of the 
immediate sexual libido to the non-sexual representation 
can, in my opinion, be found only in a resistance which 
opposes primitive sexuality. 

It appears as if, by this means of phantastic analogy 
formation, more libido would gradually become desexual- 
ized, because increasingly more phantasy correlates were 
put in the place of the primitive achievement of the sexual 
libido. With this an enormous broadening of the world 
idea was gradually developed because new objects were 
always assimilated as sexual symbols. It is a question 
whether the human consciousness has not been brought 
to its present state entirely or in great part in this man- 
ner. It is evident, in any case, that an important signifi- 
cance in the development of the human mind is due to 
the impulse towards the discovery of analogy. We must 
agree thoroughly with Steinthal when he says that an 
absolutely overweening importance must be granted to 
the little phrase " Gleich wie " (even as) in the history 
of the development of thought. It is easy to believe that 
the carryover of the libido to a phantastic correlate has 
led primitive man to a number of the most important 





IN the following pages I will endeavor to picture a 
concrete example of the transition of the libido. I once 
treated a patient who suffered from a depressive cata- 
tonic condition. The case was one of only a slight intro- 
version psychosis; therefore, the existence of many 
hysterical features was not surprising. In the beginning 
of the analytic treatment, while telling of a very painful 
occurrence she fell into a hysterical-dreamy state, in which 
she showed all signs of sexual excitement. For obvious 
reasons she lost the knowledge of my presence during this 
condition. The excitement led to a masturbative act 
(frictio femorum). This act was accompanied by a 
peculiar gesture. She made a very violent rotary motion 
with the forefinger of the left hand on the left temple, 
as if she were boring a hole there. Afterwards there was 
complete amnesia for what had happened, and there was 
nothing to be learned about the queer gesture with her 
hand. Although this act can easily be likened to a boring 
into the mouth, nose or ear, now transferred to the 
temple, it belongs in the territory of infantile ludus sexu- 
alis 1 to the preliminary exercise preparatory to sexual 
activity. Without really understanding it, this gesture, 



nevertheless, seemed very important to me. Many weeks 
later I had an opportunity to speak to the patient's 
mother, and from her I learned that her daughter had 
been a very exceptional child. When only two years old 
she would sit with her back to an open cupboard door for 
hours and rhythmically beat her head against the door 2 
to the distraction of the household. A little later, instead 
of playing as other children, she began to bore a hole with 
her finger in the plaster of the wall of the house. She 
did this with little turning and scraping movements, and 
kept herself busy at this occupation for hours. She was 
a complete puzzle to her parents. From her fourth year 
she practised onanism. It is evident that in this early 
infantile activity the preliminary stage of the later trouble 
may be found. The especially remarkable features in this 
case are, first, that the child did not carry out the action 
on its own body, and, secondly, the assiduity with which 
it carried on the action. 3 One is tempted to bring these 
two facts into a causal relationship and to say, because the 
child does not accomplish this action on her own body, 
perhaps that is the reason of the assiduity, for by boring 
into the wall she never arrives at the same satisfaction as 
if she executed the activity onanistically on her own body. 
The very evident onanistic boring of the patient can be 
traced back to a very early stage of childhood, which is 
prior to the period of local onanism. That time is still 
psychologically very obscure, because individual reproduc- 
tions and memories are lacking to a great extent, the same 
as among animals. The race characteristics (manner of 
life) predominate during the entire life of the animal, 


whereas among men the individual character asserts itself 
over the race type. Granting the correctness of this 
remark, we are struck with the apparently wholly incom- 
prehensible individual activity of this child at this early 
age. We learn from her later life history that her de- 
velopment, which is, as is always the case, intimately inter- 
woven with parallel external events, has led to that mental 
disturbance which is especially well known on account of 
its individuality and the originality of its productions, i. e. 
dementia praecox. The peculiarity of this disturbance, as 
we have pointed out above, depends upon the predomi- 
nance of the phantastic form of thought of the infantile 
in general. From this type of thinking proceed all those 
numerous contacts with mythological products, and that 
which we consider as original and wholly individual crea- 
tions are very often creations which are comparable with 
nothing but those of antiquity. I believe that this com- 
parison can be applied to all formations of this remark- 
able illness, and perhaps also to this special symptom of 
boring. We have already seen that the onanistic boring 
of the patient dated from a very early stage of childhood, 
that is to say, it was reproduced from that period of the 
past. The sick woman fell back for the first time into 
the early onanism only after she had been married many 
years, and following the death of her child, with whom 
she had identified herself through an overindulgent love. 
When the child died the still healthy mother was over- 
come by early infantile symptoms in the form of scarcely 
concealed fits of masturbation, which were associated with 
this very act of boring. As already observed, the primary 


boring appeared at a time which preceded the infantile 
onanism localized in the genitals. This fact is of signifi- 
cance in so far as this boring differs thereby from a similar 
later practice which appeared after the genital onanism. 
The later bad habits represent, as a rule, a substitution 
for repressed genital masturbation, or for an attempt in 
this direction. As such these habits (finger-sucking, biting 
the nails, picking at things, boring into the ears and nose, 
etc.) may persist far into adult life as regular symptoms 
of a repressed amount of libido. 

As has already been shown above, the libido in youth- 
ful individuals at first manifests itself in the nutritional 
zone, when food is taken in the act of suckling with 
rhythmic movements and with every sign of satisfaction. 
With the growth of the individual and the development 
of his organs the libido creates for itself new avenues to 
supply its need of activity and satisfaction. The primary 
model of rhythmic activity, producing pleasure and satis- 
faction, must now be transferred to the zone of other 
functions, with sexuality as its final goal. A considerable 
part of the " hunger libido " is transferred into the 
" sexual libido. " This transition does not take place sud- 
denly at the time of puberty, as is generally supposed, but 
very gradually in the course of the greater part of child- 
hood. The libido can free itself only with difficulty and 
very slowly from that which is peculiar to the function of 
nutrition, in order to enter into the peculiarity of the 
sexual function. Two periods are to be distinguished in 
this state of transition, so far as I can judge the epoch of 
suckling and the epoch of the displaced rhythmic activity. 


Suckling still belongs to the function of nutrition, but 
passes beyond it, however, in that it is no longer the func- 
tion of nutrition, but rhythmic activity, with pleasure and 
satisfaction as a goal, without the taking of nourishment. 
Here the hand enters as an auxiliary organ. In the 
period of the displaced rhythmic activity the hand appears 
still more clearly as an auxiliary organ; the gaining of 
pleasure leaves the mouth zone and turns to other regions. 
The possibilities are now many. As a rule, other openings 
of the body become the objects of the libido interest; 
then the skin, and special portions of that. The activity 
expressed in these parts, which can appear as rubbing, 
boring, picking, and so on, follows a certain rhythm and 
serves to produce pleasure. After longer or shorter tarry- 
ings of the libido at these stations, it passes onward until 
it reaches the sexual zone, and there, for the first time, 
can be occasion for the beginning of onanistic attempts. 
In its migration the libido takes more than a little of the 
function of nutrition with it into the sexual zone, which 
readily accounts for the numerous and innate correla- 
tions between the functions of nutrition and sexuality. If, 
after the occupation of the sexual zone, an obstacle arises 
against the present form of application of the libido, then 
there occurs, according to the well-known laws, a regres- 
sion to the nearest station lying behind, to the two above- 
mentioned periods. It is now of special importance that 
the epoch of the displaced rhythmic activity coincides in 
a general way with the time of the development of the 
mind and of speech. I might designate the period from 
birth until the occupation of the sexual zone as the pre- 


sexual stage of development. This generally occurs be- 
tween the third and fifth year, and is comparable to the 
chrysalis stage in butterflies. It is distinguished by the 
irregular commingling of the elements of nutrition and of 
sexual functions. Certain regressions follow directly back 
to the presexual stage, and, judging from my experience, 
this seems to be the rule in the regression of dementia 
praecox. I will give two brief examples. One case con- 
cerns a young girl who developed a catatonic state during 
her engagement. When she saw me for the first time, she 
came up suddenly, embraced me, and said, " Papa, give 
me something to eat." The other case concerns a young 
maidservant who complained that people pursued her 
with electricity and that this caused a queer feeling in her 
genitals, " as if it ate and drank down there." 

These regressive phenomena show that even from the 
distance of the modern mind those early stages of the 
libido can be regressively reached. One may assume, 
therefore, that in the earliest states of human develop- 
ment this road was much more easily travelled than it is 
to-day. It becomes then a matter of great interest to 
learn whether traces of this have been preserved in 

We owe our knowledge of the ethnologic phantasy of 
boring to the valuable work of Abraham, 4 who also refers 
us to the writings of Adalbert Kuhn. 5 Through this in- 
vestigation we learn that Prometheus, the fire-bringer, 
may be a brother of the Hindoo Pramantha, that is to 
say, of the masculine fire-rubbing piece of wood. The 
Hindoo fire-bringer is called Matarigvan, and the activity 


of the fire preparation is always designated in the hieratic 
text by the verb " manthami," 6 which means shaking, 
rubbing, bringing forth by rubbing. Kuhn has put this 
verb in connection with the Greek pavQavod, which means 
" to learn," and has explained this conceptual relation- 
ship. 7 The " tertium comparationis " might lie in the 
rhythm, the movement to and fro in the mind. According 
to Kuhn, the root "manth" or "math" must be traced 
from pavOdvK) (^.dOtj^a, udOrjffit) to Trpo-fiirjOsoj^ai to 
npojttjOev?,* who is the Greek fire-robber. Through 
an unauthorized Sanskrit word " pramathyus," which 
comes by way of " pramantha," and which possesses 
the double meaning of " Rubber " and " Robber/' 
the transition to Prometheus was effected. With that, 
however, the prefix " pra " caused special difficulty, 
so that the whole derivation was doubted by a series 
of authors, and was held, in part, as erroneous. On 
the other hand, it was pointed out that as the Thuric Zeus 
bore the especially interesting cognomen Ilpo-fiiavOevZ, 
thus npo-iirjOev? might not be an original Indo-Germanic 
stem word that was related to the Sanskrit " pramantha," 
but might represent only a cognomen. This interpreta- 
tion is supported by a gloss of Hesychius, 'I0a$: 6 rear 
Tirdvcov nrfpvZ npo}jirj6ev?.\ Another gloss of Hesychius 
explains iOaivojjiai (iaivco) as Qsp}iaivo}jiai, through which 
'Was attains the meaning of " the flaming one," analogous 
to AiOwv or Qheyva? . 8 The relation of Prometheus to 

*I learn (that which is learned, knowledge; the act of learning), to 
take thought beforehand, to Prometheus (forethought), 
t Prometheus, the herald of the Titans. 


pramantha could scarcely be so direct as Kuhn conjec- 
tures. The question of an indirect relation is not decided 
with that. Above all, npoprjOevt is of great significance 
as a surname for 'Wat, since the " flaming one " is the 
" f ore-thinker. " (Pramati = precaution is also an attri- 
bute of Agni, although pramati is of another derivation.) 
Prometheus, however, belongs to the line of Phlegians 
which was placed by Kuhn in uncontested relationship to 
the Indian priest family of Bhrgu. 9 The Bhrgu are like 
Matarigvan (the "one swelling in the mother"), also 
fire-bringers. Kuhn quotes a passage, according to which 
Bhrgu also arises from the flame like Agni. ("In the 
flame Bhrgu originated. Bhrgu roasted, but did not 
burn.") This view leads to a root related to Bhrgu, 
that is to say, to the Sanskrit bhray = to light, Latin 
fulgeo and Greek cpMyw (Sanskrit bhargas = splendor, 
Latin fulgur). Bhrgu appears, therefore, as "the shin- 
ing one." QXeyvas means a certain species of eagle, on 
account of its burnished gold color. The connection 
with cp\eyeiv, which signifies " to burn," is clear. The 
Phlegians are also the fire eagles. 10 Prometheus also be- 
longs to the Phlegians. The path from Pramantha to 
Prometheus passes not through the word, but through the 
idea, and, therefore, we should adopt this same meaning 
for Prometheus as that which Pramantha attains from the 
Hindoo fire symbolism. 11 

The Pramantha, as the tool of Manthana (the fire 
sacrifice), is considered purely sexual in the Hindoo; the 
Pramantha as phallus, or man; the bored wood under- 
neath as vulva, or woman. 12 The resulting fire is the 


child, the divine son Agni. The two pieces of wood are 
called in the cult Pururavas and Urvagi, and were thought 
of personified as man and woman. The fire was born 
from the genitals of the woman. 13 An especially inter- 
esting representation of fire production, as a religious 
ceremony (manthana), is given by Weber: 14 

"A certain sacrificial fire was lit by the rubbing together of 
two sticks ; one piece of wood is taken up with the words : ' Thou 
art the birthplace of the fire/ and two blades of grass are placed 
upon it; 'Ye are the two testicles,' to the * adhararani ' (the 
underlying wood) : ' Thou art Urvac.i '; then the utararani (that 
which is placed on top) is anointed with butter. ' Thou art 
Power.' This is then placed on the adhararani. * Thou art 
Pururavas ' and both are rubbed three times. ' I rub thee with 
the Gayatrimetrum : I rub thee with the Trishtubhmetrum : I rub 
thee with the Jagatimetrum.' " 

The sexual symbolism of this fire production is unmis- 
takable. We see here also the rhythm, the metre in its 
original place as sexual rhythm, rising above the mating 
call into music. A song of the Rigveda 15 conveys the 
same interpretation and symbolism : 


" Here is the gear for function, here tinder made ready for the 

Bring thou the matron : 16 we will rub Agni in ancient fashion 

In the two fire-sticks Jatavedas lieth, even as the well-formed 

germ in pregnant women; 
Agni who day by day must be exalted by men who watch and 

worship with oblations; 
Lay this with care on that which lies extended: straight hath 

she borne the steer when made prolific. 


With his red pillar radiant in his splendor in our skilled 
task is born the son of Ila." 17 Book III. xxix: 1-3. 

Side by side with the unequivocal coitus symbolism we 
see that the Pramantha is also Agni, the created son. 
The Phallus is the son, or the son is the Phallus. There- 
fore, Agni in the Vedic mythology has the threefold char- 
acter. With this we are once more connected with the 
above-mentioned Cabiric Father-Son-Cult. In the modern 
German language we have preserved echoes of the primi- 
tive symbols. A boy is designated as " bengel " (short, 
thick piece of wood) . In Hessian as " stift " or " bol- 
zen " (arrow, 18 wooden peg or stump). The Artemisia 
Abrotanum, which is called in German " Stabwurz " 
(stick root), is called in English " Boy's Love." (The 
vulgar designation of the penis as " boy " was remarked 
even by Grimm and others.) The ceremonial production 
of fire was retained in Europe as late as the nineteenth 
century as a superstitious custom. Kuhn mentions such a 
case even in the year 1828, which occurred in Germany. 
The solemn, magic ceremony was called the u Nodfyr " 
" The fire of need " 19 and the charm was chiefly used 
against cattle epidemics. Kuhn cites from the chronicle 
of Lanercost of the year 1268 an especially noteworthy 
case of the " Nodfyr," 20 the ceremonies of which plainly 
reveal the fundamental phallic meaning: 

" Pro fidei divinae integritate servanda recolat lector, quod cum 
hoc anno in Laodonia pestis grassaretur in pecudes armenti, quam 
vocant usetati Lungessouht, quidam bestiales, habitu claustrales 
non animo, docebant idiotas patriae ignem confrictione de lignis 
educere et simulacrum Priapi statuere, et per haec bestiis succur- 


rere. Quod cum unus laicus Cisterciensis apud Fentone fecisset 
ante atrium aulae, ac intinctis testiculis canis in aquam benedictam 
super animalis sparsisset, etc." * 

These examples, which allow us to recognize a clear 
sexual symbolism in the generation of fire, prove, there- 
fore, since they originate from different times and differ- 
ent peoples, the existence of a universal tendency to credit 
to fire production not only a magical but also a sexual 
significance. This ceremonial or magic repetition of this 
very ancient, long-outlived observance shows how insist- 
ently the human mind clings to the old forms, and how 
deeply rooted is this very ancient reminiscence of fire 
boring. One might almost be inclined to see in the sexual 
symbolism of fire production a relatively late addition to 
the priestly # lore. This may, indeed, be true for the cere- 
monial elaboration of the fire mysteries, but whether 
originally the generation of fire was in general a sexual 
action, that is to say, a " coitus-play," is still a ques- 
tion. That similar things occur among very primitive 
people we learn from the Australian tribe of the Wat- 
schandies, 21 who in the spring perform the following 
magic ceremonies of fertilization: They dig a hole in 
the ground, so formed and surrounded with bushes as to 

Instead of preserving the divine faith in its purity, the reader will 
call to mind the fact that in this year when the plague, usually called 
Lung sickness, attacked the herds of cattle in Laodonia, certain bestial men, 
monks in dress but not in spirit, taught the ignorant people of their country 
to make fire by rubbing wood together and to set up a statue of Priapus, and 
by that method to succor the cattle. After a Cistercian lay brother had 
done this near Fentone, in front of the entrance of the " Court," he 
sprinkled the animals with holy water and with the preserved testicles of 
a dog, etc. 


counterfeit a woman's genitals. They dance the night 
long around this hole; in connection with this they hold 
spears in front of themselves in a manner to recall the 
penis in erection. They dance around the hole and thrust 
their spears into the ditch, while they cry to it, " Pulli 
nira, pulli nira, wataka ! " (non fossa, non fossa, sed 
cunnus !) Such obscene dances appear among other primi- 
tive races as well. 22 

In this spring incantation are contained the elements 
of the coitus play. 23 This play is nothing but a coitus 
game, that is to say, originally this play was simply a 
coitus in the form of sacramental mating, which for a 
long time was a mysterious element among certain cults, 
and reappeared in sects. 24 In the ceremonies of Zinzen- 
dorf's followers echoes of the coitus sacrament may be 
recognized; also in other sects. 

One can easily think that just as the above-mentioned 
Australian bushmen perform the coitus play in this man- 
ner the same performance could be enacted in another 
manner, and, indeed, in the form of fire production. In- 
stead of through two selected human beings, the coitus 
was represented by two substitutes, by Pururavas and 
Urvac.i, by Phallus and Vulva, by borer and opening. 
Just as the primitive thought behind other customs is 
really the sacramental coition so here the primal tendency 
is really the act itself. For the act of fertilization is the 
climax the true festival of life, and well worthy to be- 
come the nucleus of a religious mystery. If we are justi- 
fied in concluding that the symbolism of the hole in the 
earth used by the Watschandies for the fertilization of 


the earth takes the place of the coitus, then the genera- 
tion of fire could be considered in the same way as a 
substitute for coitus ; and, indeed, it might be further con- 
cluded as a consequence of this reasoning that the inven- 
tion of fire-making is also due to the need of supplying a 
symbol for the sexual act. 25 

Let us return, for a moment, to the infantile symptom 
of boring. Let us imagine a strong adult man carrying 
on the boring with two pieces of wood with the same per- 
severance and the energy corresponding to that of this 
child. He may very easily create fire by this play. But 
of greatest significance in this work is the rhythm. 26 This 
hypothesis seems to me psychologically possible, although 
it should not be said with this that only in this way could 
the discovery of fire occur. It can result just as well by 
the striking together of flints. It is scarcely possible that 
fire was created in only one way. All I want to establish 
here is merely the psychologic process, the symbolic indi- 
cations of which point to the possibility that in such a 
way was fire invented or prepared. 

The existence of the primitive coitus play or rite seems 
to me sufficiently proven. The only thing that is obscure 
is the energy and emphasis of the ritual play. It is well 
known that those primitive rites were often of very bloody 
seriousness, and were performed with an extraordinary 
display of energy, which appears as a great contrast to 
the well-known indolence of primitive humanity. There- 
fore, the ritual activity entirely loses the character of play, 
and wins that of purposeful effort. If certain Negro 
races can dance the whole night long to three tones in 


the most monotonous manner, then, according to our idea, 
there is in this an absolute lack of the character of play 
pastime; it approaches nearer to exercise. There seems 
to exist a sort of compulsion to transfer the libido into 
such ritual activity. If the basis of the ritual activity is 
the sexual act, we may assume that it is really the under- 
lying thought and object of the exercise. Under these 
circumstances, the question arises why the primitive man 
endeavors to represent the sexual act symbolically and 
with effort, or, if this wording appears to be too hypo- 
thetical, why does he exert energy to such a degree only 
to accomplish practically useless things, which apparently 
do not especially amuse him? 27 It may be assumed that 
the sexual act is more desirable to primitive man than 
such absurd and, moreover, fatiguing exercises. It is 
hardly possible but that a certain compulsion conducts the 
energy away from the original object and real purpose, 
inducing the production of surrogates. The existence of 
a phallic or orgiastic cult does not indicate eo ipso a par- 
ticularly lascivious life any more than the ascetic sym- 
bolism of Christianity means an especially moral life. 
One honors that which one does not possess or that which 
one is not. This compulsion, to speak in the nomenclature 
formulated above, removes a certain amount of libido 
from the real sexual activity, and creates a symbolic and 
practically valid substitute for what is lost This psy- 
chology is confirmed by the above-mentioned Watschandie 
ceremony; during the entire ceremony none of the men 
may look at a woman. This detail again informs us 
from whence the libido is to be diverted. But this gives 


rise to the pressing question, Whence comes this compul- 
sion? We have already suggested above that the primi- 
tive sexuality encounters a resistance which leads to a 
side-tracking of the libido on to substitution actions 
(analogy, symbolism, etc.). It is unthinkable that it is a 
question of any outer opposition whatsoever, or of a real 
obstacle, since it occurs to no savage to catch his elusive 
quarry with ritual charms; but it is a question of an in- 
ternal resistance; will opposes will; libido opposes libido, 
since a psychologic resistance as an energic phenomenon 
corresponds to a certain amount of libido. The psycho- 
logic compulsion for the transformation of the libido is 
based on an original division of the will. I will return 
to this primal splitting of the libido in another place. 
Here let us concern ourselves only with the problem of 
the transition of the libido. The transition takes place, 
as has been repeatedly suggested by means of shifting to 
an analogy. The libido is taken away from its proper 
place and transferred to another substratum. 

The resistance against sexuality aims, therefore, at 
preventing the sexual act; it also seeks to crowd the libido 
away from the sexual function. We see, for example, in 
hysteria, how the specific repression blocks the real path 
of transference; therefore, the libido is obliged to take 
another path, and that an earlier one, namely, the in- 
cestuous road which ultimately leads to the parents. Let 
us speak, however, of the incest prohibition, which hin- 
dered the very first sexual transference. Then the situa- 
tion changes in so far that no earlier way of transference 
is left, except that of the presexual stage of development, 


where the libido was still partly in the function of nutri- 
tion. By a regression to the presexual material the libido 
becomes quasi-desexualized. But as the incest prohibition 
signifies only a temporary and conditional restriction of 
the sexuality, thus only that part of the libido which is 
best designated as the incestuous component is now 
pushed back to the presexual stage. The repression, 
therefore, concerns only that part of the sexual libido 
which wishes to fix itself permanently upon the parents. 
The sexual libido is only withdrawn from the incestuous 
component, repressed upon the presexual stage, and 
there, if the operation is successful, desexualized, by 
which this amount of libido is prepared for an asexual 
application. However, it is to be assumed that this opera- 
tion is accomplished only with difficulty, because the 
incestuous libido, so to speak, must be artificially sepa- 
rated from the sexual libido, with which, for ages, through 
the whole animal kingdom, it was indistinguishably united. 
The regression of the incestuous component must, there- 
fore, take place, not only with great difficulty, but also 
carry with it into the presexual stage a considerable 
sexual character. The consequence of this is that the re- 
sulting phenomena, although stamped with the character 
of the sexual act, are, nevertheless, not really sexual acts 
de facto; they are derived from the presexual stage, and 
are maintained by the repressed sexual libido, therefore 
possess a double significance. Thus the fire boring is a 
coitus (and, to be sure, an incestuous one), but a desexu- 
alized one, which has lost its immediate sexual worth, and 
is, therefore, indirectly useful to the propagation of the 


species. The presexual stage is characterized by count- 
less possibilities of application, because the libido has not 
yet formed definite localizations. It therefore appears 
intelligible that an amount of libido which reaches this 
stage through regression is confronted with manifold pos- 
sibilities of application. Above all, it is met with the 
possibility of a purely onanistic activity. But as the mat- 
ter in question in the regressive component of libido is 
sexual libido, the ultimate object of which is propagation, 
therefore it goes to the external object (Parents) ; it will 
also introvert with this destination as its essential char- 
acter. The result, therefore, is that the purely onanistic 
activity turns out to be insufficient, and another object 
must be sought for, which takes the place of the incest 
object. The nurturing mother earth represents the ideal 
example of such an object. The psychology of the pre- 
sexual stage contributes the nutrition component; the 
sexual libido the coitus idea. From this the ancient sym- 
bols of agriculture arise. In the work of agriculture 
hunger and incest intermingle. The ancient cults of 
mother earth and all the superstitions founded thereon 
saw in the cultivation of the earth the fertilization of the 
mother. The aim of the action is desexualized, however, 
for it is the fruit of the field and the nourishment con- 
tained therein. The regression resulting from the incest 
prohibition leads, in this case, to the new valuation of the 
mother; this time, however, not as a sexual object, but 
as a nourisher. 

The discovery of fire seems to be due to a very similar 
regression to the pre-sexual stage, more particularly to the 


nearest stage of the displaced rhythmic manifestation. 
The libido, introverted from the incest prohibition (with 
the more detailed designation of the motor components 
of coitus), when it reaches the presexual stage, meets 
the related infantile boring, to which it now gives, in ac- 
cordance with its realistic destination, an actual material. 
(Therefore the material is fittingly called " materia," 
as the object is the mother as above.) As I sought to 
show above, the action of the infantile boring requires 
only the strength and perseverance of an adult man and 
suitable u material " in order to generate fire. If this is 
so, it may be expected that analogous to our foregoing 
case of onanistic boring the generation of fire originally 
occurred as such an act of quasi-onanistic activity, ob- 
jectively expressed. The demonstration of this can never 
be actually furnished, but it is thinkable that somewhere 
traces of this original onanistic preliminary exercise of 
fire production have been preserved. I have succeeded in 
finding a passage in a very old monument of Hindoo 
literature which contains this transition of the sexual 
libido through the onanistic phase in the preparation of 
'fire. This passage is found in Brihadaranyaka-Upani- 
shad: 28 

" In truth, he (Atman) 29 was as large as a woman and a man, 
when they embrace each other. This, his own self, he divided 
into two parts, out of which husband and wife were formed. 30 
With her, he copulated; from this humanity sprang. She, how- 
ever, pondered : * How may he unite with me after he has created 
me from himself ? Now I shall hide ! ' Then she became a cow ; 
he, however, became a bull and mated with her. From that 
sprang the horned cattle. Then she became a mare; he, however, 


became a stallion ; she became a she-ass ; he, an ass, and mated with 
her. From these sprang the whole-hoofed animals. She became 
a goat; he became a buck; she became an ewe; he became a ram, 
and mated with her. Thus were created goats and sheep. Thus 
it happened that all that mates, even down to the ants, he created 
then he perceived : ' Truly I myself am Creation, for I have 
created the whole world! ' Thereupon he rubbed his hands (held 
before the mouth) so that he brought forth fire from his mouth, 
as from the mother womb, and from his hands." 

We meet here a peculiar myth of creation which re- 
quires a psychologic interpretation. In the beginning the 
libido was undifferentiated and bisexual; 31 this was fol- 
lowed by differentiation into a male and a female com- 
ponent. From then on man knows what he is. Now 
follows a gap in the coherence of the thought where 
belongs that very resistance which we have postulated 
above for the explanation of the urge for sublimation. 
Next follows the onanistic act of rubbing or boring (here 
finger-sucking) transferred from the sexual zone, from 
which proceeds the production of fire. 32 The libido here 
leaves its characteristic manifestation as sexual function 
and regresses to the presexual stage, where, in conformity 
with the above explanation, it occupies one of the pre- 
liminary stages of sexuality, thereby producing, in the 
view expressed in the Upanishad, the first human art, 
and from there, as suggested by Kuhn's idea of the root 
" manth," perhaps the higher intellectual activity in gen- 
eral. This course of development is not strange to the 
psychiatrist, for it is a well-known psychopathological fact 
that onanism and excessive activity of phantasy are very 
closely related. (The sexualizing-autonomizing of the 


mind through autoerotism 33 is so familiar a fact that 
examples of that are superfluous.) The course of the 
libido, as we may conclude from these studies, originally 
proceeded in a similar manner as in the child, only in a 
reversed sequence. The sexual act was pushed out of its 
proper zone and was transferred into the analogous 
mouth zone 34 the mouth receiving the significance of the 
female genitals; the hand and the fingers, respectively, re- 
ceiving the phallic meaning. 35 In this manner the regress- 
ive^ reoccupied activity of the presexual stage is invested 
with the sexual significance, which, indeed, it already 
possessed, in part, before, but in a wholly different sense. 
Certain functions of the presexual stage are found to be 
permanently suitable, and, therefore, are retained later 
on as sexual functions. Thus, for example, the mouth 
zone is retained as of erotic importance, meaning that its 
valuation is permanently fixed. Concerning the mouth, 
we know that it also has a sexual meaning among animals, 
inasmuch as, for example, stallions bite mares in the sexual 
act; also, cats, cocks, etc. A second significance of the 
mouth is as an instrument of speech, it serves essentially 
in the production of the mating call, which mostly repre- 
sents the developed tones of the animal kingdom. As to 
the hand, we know that it has the important significance 
of the contrectation organ (for example, among frogs). 
The frequent erotic use of the hand among monkeys is 
well known. If there exists a resistance against the real 
sexuality, then the accumulated libido is most likely to 
cause a hyperfunction of those collaterals which are most 
adapted to compensate for the resistance, that is to say, 


the nearest functions which serve for the introduction of 
the act; 36 on one side the function of the hand, on the 
other that of the mouth. The sexual act, however, against 
which the opposition is directed is replaced by a similar 
act of the presexual stage, the classic case being either 
finger-sucking or boring. Just as among apes the foot 
can on occasions take the place of the hand, so the child 
is often uncertain in the choice of the object to suck, and 
puts the big toe in the mouth instead of the finger. This 
last movement belongs to a Hindoo rite, only the big toe 
was not put in the mouth, but held against the eye. 37 
Through the sexual significance of the hand and mouth 
these organs, which in the presexual stage served to ob- 
tain pleasure, are invested with a procreating power 
which is identical with the above-mentioned destination, 
which aims at the external object, because it concerns the 
sexual or creating libido. When, through the actual 
preparation of fire, the sexual character of the libido em- 
ployed in that is fulfilled, then the mouth zone remains 
without adequate expression; only the hand has now 
reached its real, purely human goal in its first art. 

The mouth has, as we saw, a further important func- 
tion, which has just as much sexual relation to the object 
as the hand, that is to say, the production of the mating 
call. In opening up the autoerotic ring (hand-mouth), 38 
where the phallic hand became the fire-producing tool, 
the libido which was directed to the mouth zone was 
obliged to seek another path of functioning, which natu- 
rally was found in the already existing love call. The 
excess of libido entering here must have had the usual 


results, namely, the stimulation of the newly possessed 
function; hence an elaboration of the mating call. 

We know that from the primitive sounds human speech 
has developed. Corresponding to the psychological situa- 
tion, it might be assumed that language owes its real 
origin to this moment, when the impulse, repressed into 
the presexual stage, turns to the external in order to find 
an equivalent object there. The real thought as a con- 
scious activity is, as we saw in the first part of this book, 
a thinking with positive determination towards the ex- 
ternal world, that is to say, a " speech thinking. 1 ' This 
sort of thinking seems to have originated at that moment. 
It is very remarkable that this view, which was won by 
the path of reasoning, is again supported by old tradition 
and other mythological fragments. 

In Aitareyopanishad 39 the following quotation is to 
be found in the doctrine of the development of man: 
" Being brooded-o'er, his mouth hatched out, like as an 
egg; from out his mouth (came) speech, from speech, the 
fire." In Part II, where it is depicted how the newly 
created objects entered man, it reads: u Fire, speech be- 
coming, entered in the mouth." These quotations allow 
us to plainly recognize the intimate connection between 
fire and speech. 40 In Brihadaranyaka-Upanishad is to be 
found this passage : 

" ' Yaynavalkya/ thus he spake, ' when after the death of this 
man his speech entereth the fire, his breath into the wind, his eye 
into the sun, etc.' " 

A further quotation from the Brihadaranyaka-Upani- 
shad reads : 


" But when the sun is set, O Yaynavalkya, and the moon has 
set, and the fire is extinguished, what then serves man as light? 
Then speech serves him as light; then, by the light of speech 
he sits, and moves, he carries on his work, and he returns home. 
But when the sun is set, O Yaynavalkya, and the moon is set, 
and the fire extinguished, and the voice is dumb, what then serves 
man as light? Then he serves himself (Atman) as light; then, 
by the light of himself, he sits and moves, carries on his work 
and returns home." 

In this passage we notice that fire again stands in the 
closest relation to speech. Speech itself is called a 
" light," which, in its turn, is reduced to the " light " of 
the Atman, the creating psychic force, the libido. Thus 
the Hindoo metapsychology conceives speech and fire 
as emanations of the inner light from which we know 
that it is libido. Speech and fire are its forms of mani- 
festation, the first human arts, which have resulted from 
its transformation. This common psychologic origin 
seems also to be indicated by certain results of philology. 
The Indo-Germanic root bhd designates the idea of " to 
lighten, to shine." This root is found in Greek, (pctoo, 
(pair, (pdos *, in old Icelandic ban = white, in New 
High German bohnen = to make shining. The same root 
bhd also designates " to speak"; it is found in Sanskrit 
bhan = to speak, Armenian ban = word, in New High 
German bann to banish, Greek cpa-pl, i'cpav,(pari$.\ 
Latin fd-ri t fdnum. 

The root bhelso, with the meanings " to ring, to bark," 
is found in Sanskrit bhas = to bark and bhds to talk, 

* To shine; to show forth; reveal; light. 
tl said; they said; a saying; an oracle. 


to speak; Lithuanian balsas voice, tone. Really bhel-so 
to be bright or luminous. Compare Greek cpdho? = 
bright, Lithuanian bdlti = to become white, Middle High 
German blasz pale. 

The root Id, with the meaning of " to make sound, to 
bark," is found in Sanskrit las, Idsati = to resound; and 
las, Idsati = to radiate, to shine. 

The related root leso, with the meaning " desire," is 
also found in Sanskrit las, Idsati = to play; lash, lashati 
= to desire. Greek Xdcrravpo? = lustful, Gothic lustus, 
New High German Lust, Latin lascivus. 

A further related root, Idso = to shine, to radiate, is 
found in las, Idsati = to radiate, to shine. 

This group unites, as is evident, the meanings of " to 
desire, to play, to radiate, and to sound." A similar 
archaic confluence of meanings in the primal libido sym- 
bolism (as we are perhaps justified in calling it) is found 
in that class of Egyptian words which are derived from 
the closely related roots ben and bel and the reduplication 
benben and belbel. The original significance of these 
roots is " to burst forth, to emerge, to extrude, to well 
out," with the associated idea of bubbling, boiling and 
roundness. Belbel, accompanied by the sign of the obe- 
lisk, of originally phallic nature, means source of light. 
The obelisk itself had besides the names of techenu and 
men also the name benben, more rarely berber and 
belbel.^ The libido symbolism makes clear this connec- 
tion, it seems to me. 

The Indo-Germanic root vel, with the meaning " to 
wave, to undulate" (fire), is found in Sanskrit ulunka 


= burning, Greek a\ea, Attic akea = warmth of the 
sun, Gothic vulan = to undulate, Old High German and 
Middle High German walm = heat, glow. 

The related Indo-Germanic root velko, with the mean- 
ing of " to lighten, to glow," is found in Sanskrit ulka = 
firebrand, Greek Fe\xdv* Vulcan. This same root 
vel means also " to sound " ; in Sanskrit vdni tone, song, 
music. Tschech volati = to call. 

The root sveno to sound, to ring, is found in San- 
skrit svan, svdnati = to rustle, to sound ; Zend qanant, 
Latin sondre, Old Iranian senm, Cambrian sain, Latin 
sonus, Anglo-Saxon svinsian = to resound. The related 
root svenos = noise, sound, is found in Vedic svdnas 
noise, Latin sonor, sonorus. A further related root is 
svonos = tone, noise ; in Old Iranian son word. 

The root sve (n), locative sveni, dative sunei, means 
sun; in Zend qeng = sun. (Compare above sveno, Zend 
qanant); Gothic sun-na, sunno. 42 Here Goethe has pre- 
ceded us : 

" The sun orb sings in emulation, 
'Mid brother-spheres, his ancient round: 
His path predestined through Creation, 
He ends with step of thunder sound." 

Faust. Part I. 

"Hearken! Hark! the hours careering! 
Sounding loud to spirit-hearing, 
See the new-born Day appearing! 
Rocky portals jarring shatter, 
Phoebus' wheels in rolling clatter, 
With a crash the Light draws near! 
Pealing rays and trumpet-blazes, 
Eye is blinded, ear amazes; 


The Unheard can no one hear! 
Slip within each blossom-bell, 
Deeper, deeper, there to dwell, 
In the rocks, beneath the leaf! 
If it strikes you, you are deaf." 

Faust. Part II. 

We also must not forget the beautiful verse of Hol- 
derlin : 

" Where art thou ? Drunken, my soul dreams 
Of all thy rapture. Yet even now I hearken 
As full of golden tones the radiant sun youth 
Upon his heavenly lyre plays his even song 
To the echoing woods and hills." 

Just as in archaic speech fire and the speech sounds 
(the mating call, music) appear as forms of emanation 
of the libido, thus light and sound entering the psyche be- 
come one : libido. 

Manilius expresses it in his beautiful verses: 

" Quid mirum noscere mundum 
Si possunt homines, quibus est et mundus in ipsis 
Exemplumque dei quisque est in imagine parva? 
An quoquam genitos nisi caelo credere fas est 
Esse homines? 

Stetit unus in arcem 
Erectus capitis victorque ad sidera mittit sidereos oculos." * 

The idea of the Sanskrit tejas suggests the fundamental 
significance of the libido for the conception of the world 
in general. I am indebted to Dr. Abegg, in Zurich, a 

* Why is it wonderful to understand the universe, if men are able ? i.e., 
men in whose very being the universe exists and each one (of whom) is 
a representative of God in miniature? Or is it right to believe that men 
have sprung in any way except from heaven He alone stands in the 
midst of the citadel, a conqueror, his head erect and his shining eyes fixed 
on the stars. 


thorough Sanskrit scholar, for the compilation of the 
eight meanings of this word. 

Tejas signifies : 

1. Sharpness, cutting edge. 

2. Fire, splendor, light, glow, heat. 

3. Healthy appearance, beauty. 

4. The fiery and color-producing power of the human 
organism (thought to be in the bile). 

5. Power, energy, vital force. 

6. Passionate nature. 

7. Mental, also magic, strength; influence, position, 

8. Sperma. 

This gives us a dim idea of how, for primitive 
thought, the so-called objective world was, and had to be, 
a subjective image. To this thought must be applied the 
words of the " Chorus Mysticus " : 

" All that is perishable 
Is only an allegory." 

The Sanskrit word for fire is agnis (the Latin ignis) ; 4S 
the fire personified is the god Agni, the divine mediator, 44 
whose symbol has certain points of contact with that of 
Christ. In Avesta and in the Vedas the fire is the mes- 
senger of the gods. In the Christian mythology certain 
parts are closely related with the myth of Agni. Daniel 
speaks of the three men in the fiery furnace: 

" Then Nebuchadnezar, the King, was astonished, and rose 
up in haste and spake, and said unto his counsellors : ' Did not 
we cast three men bound into the midst of the fire ? ' 


"They answered and said: 'True, O King!' 

" He answered and said : ' Lo, I see four men loose, walking 
in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of 
the fourth is like the Son of God.' " 

In regard to that the " Biblia pauperum " observes 
(according to an old German incunabulum of 1471) : 

" One reads in the third chapter of the prophet Daniel that 
Nebuchadnezar, the King, caused three men to be placed in a 
glowing furnace and that the king often went there, looked in, 
and that he saw with the three, a fourth, who was like the Son 
of God. The three signify for us, the Holy Trinity and the 
fourth, the unity of the being. Christ, too, in His explanation 
designated the person of the Trinity and the unity of the being." 

According to this mystic interpretation, the legend of 
the three men in the fiery furnace appears as a magic 
fire ceremony by means of which the Son of God reveals 
himself. The Trinity is brought together with the unity, 
or, in other words, through coitus a child is produced. 
The glowing furnace (like the glowing tripod in 
"Faust") is a mother symbol, where the children are 
produced. 45 The fourth in the fiery furnace appears as 
Christ, the Son of God, who has become a visible God 
in the fire. The mystic trinity and unity are sexual sym- 
bols. ( Compare with that the many references in Inman : 
" Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian Symbolism.") It 
is said of the Saviour of Israel (the Messiah) and of his 
enemies, Isaiah x: 17: 

" And the light of Israel shall be for a fire, and his Holy One 
for a flame." 

In a hymn of the Syrian Ephrem it is said of Christ: 
" Thou who art all fire, have mercy upon me." 


Agni is the sacrificial flame, the sacrificer, and the sac- 
rificed, as Christ himself. Just as Christ left behind his 
redeeming blood, cpdpfJiaHov adavaaiaSy* in the stimu- 
lating wine, so Agni is the Soma, the holy drink of in- 
spiration, the mead of immortality. 46 Soma and Fire 
are entirely identical in Hindoo literature, so that in 
Soma we easily rediscover the libido symbol, through 
which a series of apparently paradoxical qualities of the 
Soma are immediately explained. As the old Hindoos 
recognized in fire an emanation of the inner libido fire, 
so too they recognized, in the intoxicating drink (Fire- 
water, Soma-Agni, as rain and fire), an emanation of 
libido. The Vedic definition of Soma as seminal fluid 
confirms this interpretation. 47 The Soma significance of 
fire, similar to the significance of the body of Christ in the 
Last Supper (compare the Passover lamb of the Jews, 
baked in the form of a cross), is explained by the psy- 
chology of the presexual stage, where the libido was still 
in part the function of nutrition. The " Soma " is the 
" nourishing drink," the mythological characterization of 
which runs parallel to fire in its origin; therefore, both are 
united in Agni. The drink of immortality was stirred by 
the Hindoo gods like fire. Through the retreat of the 
libido into the presexual stage it becomes clear why so 
many gods were either defined sexually or were devoured. 

As was shown by our discussion of fire preparation, the 
fire tool did not receive its sexual significance as a later 
addition, but the sexual libido was the motor power which 
led to its discovery, so that the later teachings of the 

* A potion of immortality. 


priests were nothing but confirmations of its actual origin. 
Other primitive discoveries probably have acquired their 
sexual symbolism in the same manner, being also derived 
from the sexual libido. 

In the previous statements, which were based on the 
Pramantha of the Agni sacrifice, we have concerned our- 
selves only with one significance of the word manthami 
or mathnami, that is to say, with that which expresses 
the movement of rubbing. As Kuhn shows, however, this 
word also possesses the meaning of tearing off, taking 
away by violence, robbing. 48 As Kuhn points out, this 
significance is already extant in the Vedic text. The 
legend of its discovery always expresses the production of 
fire as a robbery. (In this far it belongs to the motive 
widely spread over the earth of the treasure difficult to 
attain.) The fact that in many places and not alone in 
India the preparation of fire is represented as having its 
origin in robbery, seems to point to a widely spread 
thought, according to which the preparation of fire was 
something forbidden, something usurped or criminal, 
which could be obtained only through stratagem or deeds 
of violence (mostly through stratagem). 49 When onan- 
ism confronts the physician as a symptom it does so fre- 
quently under the symbol of secret pilfering, or crafty 
imposition, which always signifies the concealed fulfil- 
ment of a forbidden wish. 50 Historically, this train of 
thought probably implies that the ritual preparation of 
fire was employed with a magic purpose, and, therefore, 
was pursued by official religions; then it became a ritual 
mystery, 51 guarded by the priests and surrounded with 


secrecy. The ritual laws of the Hindoos threaten with 
severe punishment him who prepares fire in an incorrect 
manner. The fact alone that something is mysterious 
means the same as something done in concealment; that 
which must remain secret, which one may not see nor do; 
also something which is surrounded by severe punish- 
ment of body and soul; therefore, presumably, something 
forbidden which has received a license as a religious rite. 
After all has been said about the genesis of the prepara- 
tion of fire, it is no longer difficult to guess what is the 
forbidden thing; it is onanism. When I stated before 
that it might be lack of satisfaction which breaks up the 
autoerotic ring of the displaced sexual activity transferred 
to the body itself, and thus opens wider fields of culture, 
I did not mention that this loosely closed ring of the dis- 
placed onanistic activity could be much more firmly closed, 
when man makes the other great discovery, that of true 
onanism. 52 With that the activity is started in the proper 
place, and this, under certain circumstances, may mean a 
satisfaction sufficient for a long time, but at the expense 
of cheating sexuality of its real purpose. It is a fraud 
upon the natural development of things, because all the 
dynamic forces which can and should serve the develop- 
ment of culture are withdrawn from it through onanism, 
since, instead of the displacement, a regression to the local 
sexual takes place, which is precisely the opposite of that 
which is desirable. Psychologically, however, onanism is 
a discovery of a significance not to be undervalued. One 
is protected from fate, since no sexual need then has the 
power to give one up to life. For with onanism one has 


the greatest magic in one's hands; one needs only to 
phantasy, and with that to masturbate, then one possesses 
all the pleasure of the world, and is no longer compelled 
to conquer the world of one's desires through hard labor 
and wrestling with reality. 53 Aladdin rubs his lamp and 
the obedient genii stand at his bidding; thus the fairy tale 
expresses the great psychologic advantage of the easy re- 
gression to the local sexual satisfaction. Aladdin's sym- 
bol subtly confirms the ambiguity of the magic fire 

The close relation of the generation of fire to the onan- 
istic act is illustrated by a case, the knowledge of which I 
owe to Dr. Schmid, in Cery, that of an imbecile peasant 
youth who set many incendiary fires. At one of these 
conflagrations he drew suspicion to himself by his be- 
havior. He stood with his hands in his trouser pockets 
in the door of an opposite house and gazed with apparent 
delight at the fire. Under examination in the insane 
asylum, he described the fire in great detail, and made 
suspicious movements in his , trouser pockets with his 
hands. The physical examination undertaken at once 
showed that he had masturbated. Later he confessed 
that he had masturbated at the time when he had enjoyed 
the fire which he had enkindled himself. 

The preparation of fire in itself is a perfectly ordinary 
useful custom, employed everywhere for many centuries, 
which in itself involved nothing more mysterious than 
eating and drinking. However, there was always a tend- 
ency from time to time to prepare fire in a ceremonious 
and mysterious manner (exactly as with ritual eating and 


drinking) , which was to be carried out in an exactly pre- 
scribed way and from which no one dared differ. This 
mysterious tendency associated with the technique is the 
second path in the onanistic regression, always present 
by the side of culture. The strict rules applied to it, 
the zeal of the ceremonial preparations and the religious 
awe of the mysteries next originate from this source; 
the ceremonial, although apparently irrational, is an ex- 
tremely ingenious institution from the psychologic stand- 
point, for it represents a substitute for the possibility of 
onanistic regression accurately circumscribed by law. 
The law cannot apply to the content of the ceremony, for 
it is really quite indifferent for the ritual act, whether it 
is carried out in this way or in that way. On the con- 
trary, it is very essential whether the restrained libido is 
discharged through a sterile onanism or transposed into 
the path of sublimation. These severe measures of pro- 
tection apply primarily to onanism. 54 

I am indebted to Freud for a further important refer- 
ence to the onanistic nature of the fire theft, or rather 
the motive of the treasure difficult of attainment (to 
which fire theft belongs). Mythology contains repeated 
formulas which read approximately as follows: The 
treasure must be plucked or torn off from a taboo tree 
(Paradise tree, Hesperides) ; this is a forbidden and dan- 
gerous act. The clearest example of this is the old bar- 
baric custom in the service of Diana of Aricia: only he 
can become a priest of the goddess who, in her sacred 
grove, dares to tear off (" abzureissen ") a bough. The 
tearing off has been retained in vulgar speech (besides 


" abreiben," rubbing) as a symbol of the act of onanism. 
Thus u reiben," to rub, is like " reissen," to break off, 
both of which are contained in manthami and united 
apparently only through the myth of the fire theft bound 
up in the act of onanism in a deeper stratum wherein 
" reiben," properly speaking, " reissen," is employed, but 
in a transferred sense. Therefore, it might perhaps be 
anticipated that in the deepest stratum, namely, the in- 
cestuous, which precedes the autoerotic stage, 55 the two 
meanings coincide, which, through lack of mythological 
tradition, can perhaps be traced through etymology only. 


PREPARED by the previous chapters, we approach the 
personification of the libido in the form of a conqueror, 
a hero or a demon. With this, symbolism leaves the im- 
personal and neuter realm, which characterizes the astral 
and meteorologic symbol, and takes human form: the 
figure of a being changing from sorrow to joy, from joy 
to sorrow, and which, like the sun, sometimes stands in 
its zenith, sometimes is plunged in darkest night, and 
arises from this very night to new splendor. 1 Just as the 
sun, guided by its own internal laws, ascends from morn 
till noon, and passing beyond the noon descends towards 
evening, leaving behind its splendor, and then sinks com- 
pletely into the all-enveloping night, thus, too, does man- 
kind follow his course according to immutable laws, and 
also sinks, after his course is completed, into night, in 
order to rise again in the morning to a new cycle in his 
children. The symbolic transition from sun to man is 
easy and practicable. The third and last creation of 
Miss Miller's also takes this course. She calls this piece 
" Chiwantopel," a " hypnagogic poem." She gives us the 
following information about the circumstances surround- 
ing the origin of this phantasy : 

" After an evening of care and anxiety, I lay down to sleep 
at about half past eleven. I felt excited and unable to sleep, 



although I was very tired. There was no light in the room. I 
closed my eyes, and then I had the feeling that something was 
about to happen. The sensation of a general relaxation came 
over me, and I remained as passive as possible. Lines appeared 
before my eyes, sparks and shining spirals, followed by a kaleido- 
scopic review of recent trivial occurrences." 

The reader will regret with me that we cannot know 
the reason for her cares and anxieties. It would have 
been of great importance for what follows to have infor- 
mation on this point. This gap in our knowledge is the 
more to be deplored because, between the first poem in 
1898 and the time of the phantasy here discussed (1902), 
four whole years have passed. All information is lacking 
regarding this period, during which the great problem 
surely survived in the unconscious. Perhaps this lack has 
its advantages in that our interest is not diverted from 
the universal applicability of the phantasy here produced 
by sympathy in regard to the personal fate of the author. 
Therefore, something is obviated which often prevents 
the analyst in his daily task from looking away from the 
tedious toil of detail to that wider relation which reveals 
each neurotic conflict to be involved with human fate as a 

The condition depicted by the author here corresponds 
to such a one as usually precedes an intentional somnam- 
bulism 2 often described by spiritualistic mediums. A cer- 
tain inclination to listen to these low nocturnal voices 
must be assumed; otherwise such fine and hardly per- 
ceptible inner experiences pass unnoticed. We recognize 
in this listening a current of the libido leading inward 


and beginning to flow towards a still invisible, mysterious 
goal. It seems that the libido has suddenly discovered an 
object in the depths of the unconscious which powerfully 
attracts it. The life of man, turned wholly to the external 
by nature, does not ordinarily permit such introversion; 
there must, therefore, be surmised a certain exceptional 
condition, that is to say, a lack of external objects, which 
compels the individual to seek a substitute for them in his 
own soul. It is, however, difficult to imagine that this 
rich world has become too poor to offer an object for 
the love of human atoms; nor can the world and its 
objects be held accountable for this lack. It offers bound- 
less opportunities for every one. It is rather the inca- 
pacity to love which robs mankind of his possibilities. 
This world is empty to him alone who does not under- 
stand how to direct his libido towards objects, and to 
render them alive and beautiful for himself, for Beauty 
does not indeed lie in things, but in the feeling that we 
give to them. That which compels us to create a sub- 
stitute for ourselves is not the external lack of objects, 
but our incapacity to lovingly include a thing outside of 
ourselves. Certainly the difficulties of the conditions of 
life and the adversities of the struggle for existence may 
oppress us, yet even adverse external situations would not 
hinder the giving out of the libido ; on the contrary, they 
may spur us on to the greatest exertions, whereby we 
bring our whole libido into reality. Real difficulties alone 
will never be able to force the libido back permanently 
to such a degree as to give rise, for example, to a neu- 
rosis. The conflict, which is the condition of every neu- 


rosis, is lacking. The resistance, which opposes its un- 
willingness to the will, alone has the power to produce 
that pathogenic introversion which is the starting point of 
every psychogenic disturbance. The resistance against 
loving produces the inability to love. Just as the normal 
libido is comparable to a steady stream which pours its 
waters broadly into the world of reality, so the resistance, 
dynamically considered, is comparable, not so much to a 
rock rearing up in the river bed which is flooded over 
or surrounded by the stream, as to a backward flow 
towards the source. A part of the soul desires the outer 
object; another part, however, harks back to the sub- 
jective world, where the airy and fragile palaces of 
phantasy beckon. One can assume the dualism of the 
human will for which Bleuler, from the psychiatric point 
of view, has coined the word " ambitendency" 3 as some- 
thing generally present, bearing in mind that even 
the most primitive motor impulse is in opposition; as, 
for example, in the act of extension, the flexor muscles 
also become innervated. This normal ambitendency, 
however, never leads to an inhibition or prevention of the 
intended act, but is the indispensable preliminary require- 
ment for its perfection and coordination. For a resist- 
ance disturbing to this act to arise from this harmony of 
finely attuned opposition an abnormal plus or minus 
would be needed on one or the other side. The resist- 
ance originates from this added third. 4 This applies also 
to the duality of the will, from which so many difficulties 
arise for mankind. The abnormal third frees the pair 
of opposites, which are normally most intimately united, 


and causes their manifestation in the form of separate 
tendencies; it is only thus that they become willingness 
and unwillingness, which interfere with each other. The 
Bhagavad-Gita says, " Be thou free of the pairs of 
opposites." 5 The harmony thus becomes disharmony. 
It cannot be my task here to investigate whence the un- 
known third arises, and what it is. Taken at the roots 
in the case of our patients, the " nuclear complex " 
(Freud) reveals itself as the incest problem. The sexual 
libido regressing to the parents appears as the incest tend- 
ency. The reason this path is so easily travelled is due 
to the enormous indolence of mankind, which will relin- 
quish no object of the past, but will hold it fast forever. 
The " sacrilegious backward grasp " of which Nietzsche 
speaks reveals itself, stripped of its incest covering, 
as an original passive arrest of the libido in its first object 
of childhood. This indolence is also a passion, as La 
Rochefoucauld 6 has brilliantly expressed it: 

" Of all passions, that which is least known to ourselves is 
indolence: it is the most ardent and malignant of them all, al- 
though its violence may be insensible, and the injuries it causes 
may be hidden; if we will consider its power attentively, we will 
see that it makes itself, upon all occasions, mistress of our senti- 
ments, of our interests, and of our pleasures; it is the anchor, 
which has the power to arrest the largest vessels ; it is a calm more 
dangerous to the most important affairs than rocks and the worst 
tempest. The repose of indolence is a secret charm of the soul 
which suddenly stops the most ardent pursuits and the firmest 
resolutions; finally to give the true idea of this passion, one 
must say that indolence is like a beatitude of the soul which 
consoles it for all its losses and takes the place of all its posses- 


This dangerous passion, belonging above all others to 
primitive man, appears under the hazardous mask of the 
incest symbol, from which the incest fear must drive us 
away, and which must be conquered, in the first place, 
under the image of the u terrible mother." 7 It is the 
mother of innumerable evils, not the least of which are 
neurotic troubles. For, especially from the fogs of the 
arrested remnants of the libido, arise the harmful phan- 
tasmagoria which so veil reality that adaptation becomes 
almost impossible. However, we will not investigate any 
further in this place the foundations of the incest phan- 
tasies. The preliminary suggestion of my purely psycho- 
logic conception of the incest problem may suffice. We 
are here only concerned with the question whether resist- 
ance which leads to introversion in our author signifies 
a conscious external difficulty or not. If it were an ex- 
ternal difficulty, then, indeed, the libido would be violently 
dammed back, and would produce a flood of phantasies, 
which can best be designated as schemes, that is to say, 
plans as to how the obstacles could be overcome. They 
would be very concrete ideas of reality which seek to pave 
the way for solutions. It would be a strenuous medita- 
tion, indeed, which would be more likely to lead to any- 
thing rather than to a hypnagogic poem. The passive 
condition depicted above in no way fits in with a real ex- 
ternal obstacle, but, precisely through its passive submis- 
sion, it indicates a tendency which doubtless scorns real 
solutions and prefers phantastic substitutes. Ultimately 
and essentially we are, therefore, dealing with an internal 
conflict, perhaps after the manner of those earlier con- 


flicts which led to the two first unconscious creations. 
We, therefore, are forced to conclude that the external 
object cannot be loved, because a predominant amount 
of libido prefers a phantastic object, which must be 
brought up from the depths of the unconscious as a com- 
pensation for the missing reality. 

The visionary phenomena, produced in the first stages 
of introversion, are grouped among the well-known phe- 
nomena 8 of hypnagogic vision. They form, as I ex- 
plained in an earlier paper, the foundation of the true 
visions of the symbolic autorevelations of the libido, as 
we may now express it. 

Miss Miller continues: 

" Then I had the impression that some communication was 
immediately impending. It seemed to me as if there were re- 
echoed in me the words, ' Speak, O Lord, for Thy servant listens ; 
open Thou mine ears ! ' : 

This passage very clearly describes the intention; the 
expression " communication " is even a current term in 
spiritualistic circles. The Biblical words contain a clear 
invocation or " prayer," that is to say, a wish (libido) 
directed towards divinity (the unconscious complex). 
The prayer refers to Samuel, i: 3, where Samuel at night 
was three times called by God, but believed that it was Eli 
calling, until the latter informed him that it was God 
himself who spoke, and that he must answer if his name 
was called again " Speak, O Lord, for Thy Servant 
hears ! " The dreamer uses these words really in an in- 
verse sense, namely, in order to produce God with them. 


With that she directs her desires, her libido, into the 
depths of her unconscious. 

We know that, although individuals are widely sepa- 
rated by the differences in the contents of their conscious- 
ness, they are closely alike in their unconscious psy- 
chology. It is a significant impression for one working in 
practical psychoanalysis when he realizes how uniform 
are the typical unconscious complexes. Difference first 
arises from individualization. This fact gives to an es- 
sential portion of the Schopenhauer and Hartmann 
philosophies a deep psychologic justification. 9 The very 
evident uniformity of the unconscious mechanism serves 
as a psychologic foundation for these philosophic views. 
The unconscious contains the differentiated remnants of 
the earlier psychologic functions overcome by the indi- 
vidual differentiation. The reaction and products of the 
animal psyche are of a generally diffused uniformity and 
solidity, which, among men, may be discovered appar- 
ently only in traces. Man appears as something extraordi- 
narily individual in contrast with animals. 

This might be a tremendous delusion, because we have 
the appropriate tendency always to recognize only the 
difference of things. This is demanded by the psycho- 
logic adaptation which, without the most minute differ- 
entiation of the impressions, would be absolutely impos- 
sible. In opposition to this tendency we have ever the 
greatest difficulty in recognizing in their common rela- 
tions the things with which we are occupied in every- 
day life. This recognition becomes much easier with 
things which are more remote from us. For example, it 


is almost impossible for a European to differentiate the 
faces in a Chinese throng, although the Chinese have just 
as individual facial formations as the Europeans, but the 
similarity of their strange facial expression is much more 
evident to the remote onlooker than their individual dif- 
ferences. But when we live among the Chinese then the 
impression of their uniformity disappears more and 
more, and finally the Chinese become individuals also. 
Individuality belongs to those conditional actualities which 
are greatly overrated theoretically on account of their 
practical significance. It does not belong to those over- 
whelmingly clear and therefore universally obtrusive gen- 
eral facts upon which a science must primarily be founded. 
The individual content of consciousness is, therefore, the 
most unfavorable object imaginable for psychology, be- 
cause it has veiled the universally valid until it has become 
unrecognizable. The essence of consciousness is the 
process of adaptation which takes place in the most 
minute details. On the other hand, the unconscious is the 
generally diffused, which not only binds the individuals 
among themselves to the race, but also unites them back- 
wards with the peoples of the past and their psychology. 
Thus the unconscious, surpassing the individual in its 
generality, is, in the first place, the object of a true psy- 
chology, which claims not to be psychophysical. 

Man as an individual is a suspicious phenomenon, the 
right of whose existence from a natural biological stand- 
point could be seriously contested, because, from this 
point of view, the individual is only a race atom, and 
has a significance only as a mass constituent. The ethical 


standpoint, however, gives to the human being an indi- 
vidual tendency separating him from the mass, which, in 
the course of centuries, led to the development of per- 
sonality, hand in hand with which developed the hero 
cult, and has led to the modern individualistic cult of 
personages. The attempts of rationalistic theology to 
keep hold of the personal Jesus as the last and most 
precious remnant of the divinity which has vanished be- 
yond the power of the imagination corresponds to this 
tendency. In this respect the Roman Catholic Church 
was more practical, because she met the general need of 
the visible, or at least historically believed hero, through 
the fact that she placed upon the throne of worship a 
small but clearly perceptible god of the world, namely, 
the Roman Pope, the Pater patrum, and at the same time 
the Pontifex Maximus of the invisible upper or inner God. 
The sensuous demonstrability of God naturally supports 
the religious process of introversion, because the human 
figure essentially facilitates the transference, for it is not 
easy to imagine something lovable or venerable in a spir- 
itual being. This tendency, everywhere present, has been 
secretly preserved in the rationalistic theology with its 
Jesus historically insisted upon. This does not mean that 
men loved the visible God; they love him, not as he is, 
for he is merely a man, and when the pious wished to 
love humanity they could go to their neighbors and their 
enemies to love them. Mankind wishes to love in God 
only their ideas, that is to say, the ideas which they pro- 
ject into God. By that they wish to love their unconscious, 
that is, that remnant of ancient humanity and the cen- 


turies-old past in all people, namely, the common property 
left behind from all development which is given to all 
men, like the sunshine and the air. But in loving this 
inheritance they love that which is common to all. Thus 
they turn back to the mother of humanity, that is to say, 
to the spirit of the race, and regain in this way some- 
thing of that connection and of that mysterious and irre- 
sistible power which is imparted by the feeling of belong- 
ing to the herd. It is the problem of Antaeus, who 
preserves his gigantic strength only through contact with 
mother earth. This temporary withdrawal into one's self, 
which, as we have already seen, signifies a regression to 
the childish bond to the parent, seems to act favorably, 
within certain limits, in its effect upon the psychologic 
condition of the individual. It is in general to be ex- 
pected that the two fundamental mechanisms of the psy- 
choses, transference and introversion, are to a wide 
extent extremely appropriate methods of normal reaction 
against complexes; transference as a means of escaping 
from the complex into reality; introversion as a means of 
detaching one's self from reality through the complex. 

After we have informed ourselves about the general 
purposes of prayer, we are prepared to hear more about 
the vision of our dreamer. After the prayer, " the head 
of a sphinx with an Egyptian headdress " appeared, only 
to vanish quickly. Here the author was disturbed, so 
that for a moment she awoke. This vision recalls the 
previously mentioned phantasy of the Egyptian statue, 
whose rigid gesture is entirely in place here as a phe- 
nomenon of the so-called functional category. The light 


stages of the hypnosis are designated technically as 
" Engourdissement " (stiffening). The word Sphinx in 
the whole civilized world signifies the same as riddle : a 
puzzling creature who proposes riddles, like the Sphinx 
of Oedipus, standing at the portal of his fate like a 
symbolic proclamation of the inevitable. The Sphinx is 
a semi-theriomorphic representation of that " mother 
image " which may be designated as the " terrible 
mother," of whom many traces are found in mythology. 
This interpretation is correct for Oedipus. Here the 
question is opened. The objection will be raised that 
nothing except the word " Sphinx " justifies the allusion 
to the Sphinx of Oedipus. On account of the lack of 
subjective materials, which in the Miller text are wholly 
lacking in regard to this vision, an individual inter- 
pretation would also be excluded. The suggestion 
of an "Egyptian" phantasy (Part I, Chapter II) is 
entirely insufficient to be employed here. Therefore we 
are compelled, if we wish to venture at all upon an 
understanding of this vision, to direct ourselves perhaps 
in all too daring a manner to the available ethnographic 
material under the assumption that the unconscious of the 
present-day man coins its symbols as was done in the most 
remote past. The Sphinx, in its traditional form, is a half- 
human, half-animal creature, which we must, in part, 
interpret in the way that is applicable to such phantastic 
products. The reader is directed to the deductions in 
the first part of this volume where the theriomorphic rep- 
resentations of the libido were discussed. This manner 
of representation is very familiar to the analyst, through 


the dreams and phantasies of neurotics (and of normal 
men). The impulse is readily represented as an animal, 
as a bull, horse, dog, etc. One of my patients, who had 
questionable relations with women, and who began the 
treatment with the fear, so to speak, that I would surely 
forbid him his sexual adventures, dreamed that I (his 
physician) very skilfully speared to the wall a strange 
animal, half pig, half crocodile. Dreams swarm with such 
theriomorphic representations of the libido. Mixed 
beings, such as are in this dream, are not rare. A series 
of very beautiful illustrations, where especially the lower 
half of the animal was represented theriomorphically, 
has been furnished by Bertschinger. 10 The libido which 
was represented theriomorphically is the u animal " sex- 
uality which is in a repressed state. The history of re- 
pression, as we have seen, goes back to the incest problem, 
where the first motives for moral resistance against sexu- 
ality display themselves. The objects of the repressed 
libido are, in the last degree, the images of father and 
mother; therefore the theriomorphic symbols, in so far 
as they do not symbolize merely the libido in general, 
have a tendency to present father and mother (for ex- 
ample, father represented by a bull, mother by a cow). 
From these roots, as we pointed out earlier, might prob- 
ably arise the theriomorphic attributes of the Divinity. 
In as far as the repressed libido manifests itself under 
certain conditions, as anxiety, these animals are generally 
of a horrible nature. In consciousness we are attached 
by all sacred bonds to the mother; in the dream she pur- 
sues us as a terrible animal. The Sphinx, mythologically 


considered, is actually a fear animal, which reveals dis- 
tinct traits of a mother derivate. In the Oedipus legend 
the Sphinx is sent by Hera, who hates Thebes on account 
of the birth of Bacchus; because Oedipus conquers the 
Sphinx, which is nothing but fear of the mother, he must 
marry Jocasta, his mother, for the throne and the hand 
of the widowed queen of Thebes belonged to him who 
freed the land from the plague of the Sphinx. The 
genealogy of the Sphinx is rich in allusions to the problem 
touched upon here. She is a daughter of Echnida, a mixed 
being; a beautiful maiden above, a hideous serpent below. 
This double creature corresponds to the picture of the 
mother; above, the human, lovely and attractive half; 
below, the horrible animal half, converted into a fear 
animal through the incest prohibition. Echnida is de- 
rived from the All-mother, the mother Earth, Gaea, who, 
with Tartaros, the personified underworld (the place of 
horrors), brought her forth. Echnida herself is the 
mother of all terrors, of the Chimaera, Scylla, Gorgo, of 
the horrible Cerberus, of the Nemean Lion, and of the 
eagle who devoured the liver of Prometheus; besides this 
she gave birth to a number of dragons. One of her sons 
is Orthrus, the dog of the monstrous Geryon, who was 
killed by Hercules. With this dog, her son, Echnida, in 
incestuous intercourse, produced the Sphinx. These ma- 
terials will suffice to characterize that amount of libido 
which led to the Sphinx symbol. If, in spite of the lack 
of subjective material, we may venture to draw an infer- 
ence from the Sphinx symbol of our author, we must say 
that the Sphinx represents an original incestuous amount 


of libido detached from the bond to the mother. Per- 
haps it is better to postpone this conclusion until we have 
examined the following visions. 

After Miss Miller had concentrated herself again, the 
vision developed further: 

" Suddenly an Aztec appeared, absolutely clear in every detail ; 
the hands spread open, with large fingers, the head in profile, 
armored, headdress similar to the feather ornaments of the Amer- 
ican Indian. The whole was somewhat suggestive of Mexican 

The ancient Egyptian character of the Sphinx is re- 
placed here by American antiquity by the Aztec. The 
essential idea is neither Egypt nor Mexico, for the two 
could not be interchanged; but it is the subjective factor 
which the dreamer produces from her own past. I have 
frequently observed in the analysis of Americans that 
certain unconscious complexes, i.e. repressed sexuality, 
are represented by the symbol of a Negro or an Indian; 
for example, when a European tells in his dream, " Then 
came a ragged, dirty individual," for Americans and for 
those who live in the tropics it is a Negro. When with 
Europeans it is a vagabond or a criminal, with Americans 
it is a Negro or an Indian which represents the indi- 
vidual's own repressed sexual personality, and the one 
considered inferior. It is also desirable to go into the 
particulars of this vision, as there are various things 
worthy of notice. The feather cap, which naturally had 
to consist of eagles' feathers, is a sort of magic charm. 
The hero assumes at the same time something of the sun- 
like character of this bird when he adorns himself with 


its feathers, just as the courage and strength of the enemy 
are appropriated in swallowing his heart or taking his 
scalp. At the same time, the feather crest is a crown 
which is equivalent to the rays of the sun. The historical 
importance of the Sun identification has been seen in the 
first part. 11 

Especial interest attaches to the hand, which is de- 
scribed as " open," and the fingers, which are described 
as " large." It is significant that it is the hand upon which 
the distinct emphasis falls. One might rather have ex- 
pected a description of the facial expression. It is well 
known that the gesture of the hand is significant; unfor- 
tunately, we know nothing about that here. Nevertheless, 
a parallel phantasy might be mentioned, which also puts 
the emphasis upon hands. A patient in a hypnagogic 
condition saw his mother painted on a wall, like a painting 
in a Byzantine church. She held one hand up, open wide, 
with fingers spread apart. The fingers were very large, 
swollen into knobs on the ends, and each surrounded by 
a small halo. The immediate association with this pic- 
ture was the fingers of a frog with sucking discs at the 
ends. Then the similarity to the penis. The ancient set- 
ting of this mother picture is also of importance. Evi- 
dently the hand had, in this phantasy, a phallic meaning. 
This interpretation was confirmed by a further very 
remarkable phantasy of the same patient. He saw some- 
thing like a u sky-rocket " ascending from his mother's 
hand, which at a closer survey becomes a shining bird 
with golden wings, a golden pheasant, as it then occurs 
to his mind. We have seen in the previous chapter that 


the hand has actually a phallic, generative meaning, and 
that this meaning plays a great part in. the production 
of fire. In connection with this phantasy, there is but one 
observation to make : fire was bored with the hand; there- 
fore it comes from the hand; Agni, the fire, was wor- 
shipped as a golden-winged bird. 12 It is extremely sig- 
nificant that it is the mother's hand. I must deny myself 
the temptation to enter more deeply into this. Let it be 
sufficient to have pointed out the possible significance of 
the hand of the Aztec by means of these parallel hand 
phantasies. We have mentioned the mother suggestively 
with the Sphinx. The Aztec taking the place of the 
Sphinx points, through his suggestive hand, to parallel 
phantasies in which the phallic hand really belongs to the 
mother. Likewise we encounter an antique setting in 
parallel phantasies. The significance of the antique, 
which experience has shown to be the symbol for " infan- 
tile," is confirmed by Miss Miller in this connection in the 
annotation to her phantasies, for she says : 

" In my childhood, I took a special interest in the Aztec frag- 
ments and in the history of Peru and of the Incas." 

Through the two analyses of children which have been 
published we have attained an insight into the child's 
small world, and have seen what burning interests and 
questions secretly surround the parents, and that the par- 
ents are, for a long time, the objects of the greatest in- 
terest. 13 We are, therefore, justified in suspecting that 
the antique setting applies to the " ancients," that is to 
say, the parents, and that consequently this Aztec has 


something of the father or mother in himself. Up to this 
time indirect hints point only to the mother, which is 
nothing remarkable in an American girl, because Ameri- 
cans, as a result of the extreme detachment from the 
father, are characterized by a most enormous mother 
complex, which again is connected with the especial social 
position of woman in the United States. This position 
brings about a special masculinity among capable women, 
which easily makes possible the symbolizing into a mas- 
culine figure. 14 

After this vision, Miss Miller felt that a name formed 
itself " bit by bit," which seemed to belong to this Aztec 
" the son of an Inca of Peru." The name is " Chi-wan- 
to-pel." As the author intimated, something similar to 
this belonged to her childish reminiscences. The act of 
naming is, like baptism, something exceedingly important 
for the creation of a personality, because, since olden 
times, a magic power has been attributed to the name, 
with which, for example, the spirit of the dead can be 
conjured. To know the name of any one means, in 
mythology, to have power over that one. As a well-known 
example I mention the fairy tale of " Rumpelstilzchen." 
In an Egyptian myth, Isis robs the Sun god Re perma- 
nently of his power by compelling him to tell her his real 
name. Therefore, to give a name means to give power, 
invest with a definite personality. 15 The author observed, 
in regard to the name itself, that it reminded her very 
much of the impressive name Popocatepetl, a name which 
belongs to unforgettable school memories, and, to the 
greatest indignation of the patient, very often emerges 


in an analysis in a dream or phantasy and brings with it 
that same old joke which one heard in school, told one- 
self and later again forgot. Although one might hesitate 
to consider this unhallowed joke as of psychologic im- 
portance, still one must inquire for the reason of its being. 
One must also put, as a counter question, Why is it always 
Popocatepetl and not the neighboring Iztaccihuatl, or 
the even higher and just as clear Orizaba ? The last has 
certainly the more beautiful and more easily pronounced 
name. Popocatepetl is impressive because of its onoma- 
topoetic name. In English the word is " to pop " (pop- 
gun), which is here considered as onomatopoesy; in Ger- 
man the words are Hinterpommern, Pumpernickel; 
Bombe; Petarde (le pet = flatus) . The frequent German 
word Popo (Podex) does not indeed exist in English, 
but flatus is designated as " to poop " in childish speech. 
The act of defecation is often designated as " to pop." 
A joking name for the posterior part is " the bum." 
(Poop also means the rear end of a ship.) In French, 
pouf! is onomatopoetic; pouffer = platzen (to explode), 
la poupe = rear end of ship, le poupard the baby in 
arms, la poupee doll. Poupon is a pet name for a 
chubby-faced child. In Dutch pop, German Puppe and 
Latin puppis doll ; in Plautus, however, it is also used 
jokingly for the posterior part of the body; pupus means 
child; pupula = g\r\, little dollie. The Greek word 
TtonnvZoa designates a cracking, snapping or blowing 
sound. It is used of kissing; by Theocritus also of the as- 
sociated noise of flute blowing. The etymologic parallels 
show a remarkable relationship between the part of the 


body in question and the child. This relationship we will 
mention here, only to let it drop at once, as this question 
will claim our attention later. 

One of my patients in his childhood had always con- 
nected the act of defecation with a phantasy that his pos- 
terior was a volcano and a violent eruption took place, 
explosion of gases and gushings forth of lava. The 
terms for the elemental occurrences of nature are 
originally not at all poetical; one thinks, for example, of 
the beautiful phenomenon of the meteor, which the Ger- 
man language most unpoetically calls " Sternschnuppe " 
(the smouldering wick of a star). Certain South Ameri- 
can Indians call the shooting star the " urine of the stars." 
According to the principle of the least resistance, expres- 
sions are taken from the nearest source available. (For 
example, the transference of the metonymic expression 
of urination as Schiffens, " to rain.") 

Now it seems to be very obscure why the mystical 
figure of Chiwantopel, whom Miss Miller, in a note, 
compares to the control spirit of the spiritualistic me- 
dium, 16 is found in such a disreputable neighborhood that 
his nature (name) was brought into relation with this 
particular part of the body. In order to understand this 
possibility, we must realize that when we produce from 
the unconscious the first to be brought forth is the infan- 
tile material long lost in memory. One must, therefore, 
take the point of view of that time in which this infantile 
material was still on the surface. If now a much-honored 
object is related in the unconscious to the anus, then one 
must conclude that something of a high valuation was 


expressed thereby. The question is only whether this 
corresponds to the psychology of the child. Before we 
enter upon this question, it must be stated that the anal 
region is very closely connected with veneration. One 
thinks of the traditional faeces of the Great Mogul. An 
Oriental tale has the same to say of Christian knights, 
who anointed themselves with the excrement of the pope 
and cardinals in order to make themselves formidable. 
A patient who is characterized by a special veneration 
for her father had a phantasy that she saw her father 
sitting upon the toilet in a dignified manner, and people 
going past greeted him effusively. 17 The association of 
the anal relations by no means excludes high valuation or 
esteem, as is shown by these examples, and as is easily 
seen from the intimate connection of faeces and gold. 18 
Here the most worthless comes into the closest relation 
with the most valuable. This also happens in religious 
valuations. I discovered (at that time to my great aston- 
ishment) that a young patient, very religiously trained, 
represented in a dieam the Crucified on the bottom of a 
blue-flowered chamber pot, namely, in the form of excre- 
ments. The contrast is so enormous that one must assume 
that the valuations of childhood must indeed be very 
different from ours. This is actually the truth. Children 
bring to the act of defecation and the products of this 
an esteem and interest 19 which later on is possible only 
to the hypochondriac. We do not comprehend this in- 
terest until we learn that the child very early connects 
with it a theory of propagation. 20 The libido afflux prob- 
ably accounts for the enormous interest in this act. The 


child sees that this is the way in which something is pro- 
duced, in which something comes out. The same child 
whom I reported in the little brochure " Uber Konflicte 
der kindlichen Seele," and who had a well-developed anal 
theory of birth, like little Hans, whom Freud made known 
to us, later contracted a habit of staying a long time on 
the toilet. Once the father grew impatient, went to the 
toilet and called, " Do come out of there; what are you 
making?" Whereupon the answer came from within, 
" A little wagon and two ponies." The child was making 
a little wagon and two ponies, that is to say, things which 
at that time she especially wished for. In this way one 
can make what one wishes, and the thing made is the 
thing wished for. The child wishes earnestly for a doll 
or, at heart, for a real child. (That is, the child prac- 
tised for his future biological task, and in the way in 
which everything in general is produced he made the 
doll 21 himself as representative of the child or of the 
thing wished for in general. 22 ) From a patient I have 
learned a parallel phantasy of her childhood. In the 
toilet there was a crevice in the wall. She phantasied that 
from this crevice a fairy would come out and present 
her with everything for which she wished. The " locus " 
is known to be the place of dreams where much was 
wished for and created which later would no longer be 
suspected of having this place of origin. A pathological 
phantasy in place here is told us by Lombroso, 23 concern- 
ing two insane artists. Each of them considered himself 
God and the ruler of the world. They created or pro- 
duced the world by making it come forth from the rectum, 


just as the egg of birds originates in the egg canal. One 
of these two artists was endowed with a true artistic 
sense. He painted a picture in which he was just in the 
act of creation ; the world came forth from his anus ; the 
membrum was in full erection ; he was naked, surrounded 
by women, and with all insignia of his power. The excre- 
ment is in a certain sense the thing wished for, and on that 
account it receives the corresponding valuation. When I 
first understood this connection, an observation made 
long ago, and which disturbed me greatly because I never 
rightly understood it, became clear to me. It concerned 
an educated patient who, under very tragic circumstances, 
had to be separated from her husband and child, and was 
brought into the insane asylum. She exhibited a typical 
apathy and slovenliness which was considered as 
affective mental deterioration. Even at that time I 
doubted this deterioration, and was inclined to regard 
it as a secondary adjustment. I took especial pains to 
ascertain how I could discover the existence of the affect 
in this case. Finally, after more than three hours' hard 
work, I succeeded in finding a train of thought which sud- 
denly brought the patient into a completely adequate and 
therefore strongly emotional state. At this moment the 
affective connection with her was completely reestab- 
lished. That happened in the forenoon. When I re- 
turned at the appointed time in the evening to the ward to 
see her she had, for my reception, smeared herself from 
head to foot with excrement, and cried laughingly, " Do I 
please you so? " She had never done that before; it was 
plainly destined for me. The impression which I received 


was one of a personal affront and, as a result of 
this, I was convinced for years after of the affective de- 
terioration of such cases. Now we understand this act 
as an infantile ceremony of welcome or a declaration of 

The origin of Chiwantopel, that is to say, an uncon- 
scious personality, therefore means, in the sense of the 
previous explanation, " I make, produce, invent him my- 
self." It is a sort of human creation or birth by the anal 
route. The first people were made from excrement, pot- 
ter's earth, or clay. The Latin lutum, which really means 
" moistened earth," also has the transferred meaning of 
dirt. In Plautus it is even a term of abuse, something 
like " You scum." The birth from the anus also reminds 
us of the motive of u throwing behind oneself." A well- 
known example is the oracular command, which Deu- 
calion and Pyrrha, who were the only survivors from the 
great flood, received. They were to throw behind them 
the bones of the great mother. They then threw behind 
them stones, from which mankind sprang. According to 
a tradition, the Dactyli in a similar manner sprang from 
dust, which the nymph Anchiale threw behind her. There 
is also humorous significance attached to the anal prod- 
ucts. The excrements are often considered in popular 
humor as a monument or memorial (which plays a special 
part in regard to the criminal in the form of grumus 
merdtf); every one knows the humorous story of the man 
who, led by the spirit through labyrinthian passages to a 
hidden treasure, after he had shed all his pieces of cloth- 
ing, deposited excrement as a last guide post on his road. 


In a more distant past a sign of this kind possessed as 
great a significance as the dung of animals to indicate 
the direction taken. Simple monuments ("little stone 
figures ") have taken the place of this perishable mark. 

It is noteworthy that Miss Miller quotes another case, 
where a name suddenly obtruded itself, parallel to the 
emerging into consciousness of Chiwantopel, namely, A-ha- 
ma-ra-ma, with the feeling that it dealt with something 
Assyrian. 24 As a possible source of this, there occurred 
to her " Asurabama, who made cuneiform bricks," 25 
those imperishable documents made from clay : the monu- 
ments of the most ancient history. If it were not empha- 
sized that the bricks are " cuneiform," then it might mean 
ambiguously " wedged-shaped bricks," which is more 
suggestive of our interpretation than that of the 

Miss Miller remarks that besides the name " Asura- 
bama " she also thought of " Ahasuerus " or " Ahasve- 
rus." This phantasy leads to a very different aspect of 
the problem of the unconscious personality. While the 
previous materials betrayed to us something of the infan- 
tile theory of creation, this phantasy opens up a vista into 
the dynamics of the unconscious creation of personality. 
Ahasver is, as is well known, the Wandering Jew; he is 
characterized by endless and restless wanderings until the 
end of the world. The fact that the author has thought 
of this particular name justifies us in following this trail. 
The legend of Ahasver, the first literary traces of which 
belong to the thirteenth century, seems to be of Occidental 
origin, and belongs to those ideas which possess inde- 



structible vital energy. The figure of the Wandering Jew 
has undergone more literary elaboration than the figure 
of Faust, and nearly all of this work belongs to the last 
century. If the figure is not called Ahasver, still it is there 
under another name, perhaps as Count of St. Germain, 
the mysterious Rosicrucian, whose immortality was as- 
sured, and whose temporary residence (the land) was 
equally known. 26 Although the stories about Ahasver 
cannot be traced back any earlier than the thirteenth cen- 
tury, the oral tradition can reach back considerably 
further, and it is not an impossibility that a bridge to the 
Orient exists. There is the parallel figure of Chidr, or 
" al Chadir, n the " ever-youthful Chidher " celebrated in 
song by Rueckert. The legend is purely Islamitic. The 
peculiar feature, however, is that Chidher is not only a 
saint, but in Sufic circles 27 rises even to divine significance. 
In view of the severe monotheism of Islam, one is in- 
clined to think of Chidher as a pre-Islamitic Arabian 
divinity who would hardly be officially recognized by the 
new religion, but might have been tolerated on political 
grounds. But there is nothing to prove that. The first 
traces of Chidher are found in the commentaries of the 
Koran, Buchari and Tabare and in a commentary to a 
noteworthy passage of the eighteenth sura of the Koran. 
The eighteenth sura is entitled " the cave," that is, after 
the cave of the seven sleepers, who, according to the 
legend, slept there for 309 years, and thus escaped perse- 
cution, and awoke in a new era. Their legend is re- 
counted in the eighteenth sura, and divers reflections were 
associated with it. The wish-fulfilment idea of the legend 


is very clear. The mystic material for it is the immutable 
model of the Sun's course. The Sun sets periodically, 
but does not die. It hides in the womb of the sea or in a 
subterranean cave, 28 and in the morning is " born again," 
complete. The language in which this astronomic occur- 
rence is clothed is one of clear symbolism; the Sun returns 
into the mother's womb, and after some time is again 
born. Of course, this event is properly an incestuous 
act, of which, in mythology, clear traces are still re- 
tained, not the least of which is the circumstance that the 
dying and resurrected gods are the lovers of their own 
mothers or have generated themselves through their own 
mothers. Christ as the " God becoming flesh " has gen- 
erated himself through Mary; Mithra has done the 
same. These Gods are unmistakable Sun-gods, for the 
Sun also does this, in order to again renew himself. 
Naturally, it is not to be assumed that astronomy came 
first and these conceptions of gods afterwards; the process 
was, as always, inverted, and it is even true that primitive 
magic charms of rebirth, baptism, superstitious usages 
of all sorts, concerning the cure of the sick, etc., were 
projected into the heavens. These youths were born 
from the cave (the womb of mother earth), like the Sun- 
gods, in a new era, and this was the way they vanquished 
death. In this far they were immortal. It is now inter- 
esting to see how the Koran comes, after long ethical 
contemplations in the course of the same sura, to the fol- 
lowing passage, which is of especial significance for the 
origin of the Chidher myth. For this reason I quote 
the Koran literally : 


" Remember when Moses said to his servant, ' I will not stop 
till I reach the confluence of the two seas, or for eighty years will 
I journey on.' 

" But when they reached their confluence they forgot their 
fish, and it took its way in the sea at will. 

" And when they had passed on, Moses said to his servant, 
1 Bring us our morning meal, for now we have incurred weariness 
from this our journey.' 

" He said, 'What thinkest thou? When we repaired to the 
rock for rest, then verily I forgot the fish; and none but Satan 
made me forget it, so as not to mention it; and it hath taken its 
way in the sea in a wondrous sort.' 

" He said, ' It is this we were in quest of.' So they both went 
back retracing their footsteps. 

" Then found they one of our servants to whom we had vouch- 
safed our mercy, and whom we had instructed with our knowl- 

" Moses said to him, ' Shall I follow thee that thou teach me, 
for guidance of that which thou hast been taught ? ' 

" He said, ' Verily, thou canst by no means have patience with 
me ; and how canst thou be patient in matters whose meaning thou 
comprehendest not?'" Trans. Rodwell, page 188. 

Moses now accompanies the mysterious servant of God, 
who does divers things which Moses cannot comprehend; 
finally, the Unknown takes leave of Moses, and speaks to 
him as follows : 

"They will ask thee of Dhoulkarnein (the two-horned). 80 
Say: ' I will recite to you an account of him.' 

" Verily, we established his power upon the earth and we gave 
him a means to accomplish every end, so he followed his way; 

" Until when he reached the setting of the sun, he found it 
to set in a miry forest ; and hard by, he found a people. . . ." 

Now follows a moral reflection; then the narrative con- 
tinues : 


" Then he followed his course further until he came to the place 
where the sun rises. ..." 

If now we wish to know who is the unknown servant 
of God, we are told in this passage he is Dhulqarnein, 
Alexander, the Sun; he goes to the place of setting and 
he goes to the place of rising. The passage about the 
unknown servant of God is explained by the commentaries 
in a well-defined legend. The servant is Chidher, " the 
verdant one/' the never-tiring wanderer, who roams for 
hundreds and thousands of years over lands and seas, the 
teacher and counsellor of pious men; the one wise in 
divine knowledge the immortal. 31 The authority of the 
Tabari associates Chidher with Dhulqarnein; Chidher is 
said to have reached the " stream of life " as a follower 
of Alexander, and both unwittingly had drunk of it, so 
that they became immortal. Moreover, Chidher is iden- 
tified by the old commentators with Elias, who also did 
not die, but who was taken to Heaven in a fiery chariot. 
Elias is Helios. 32 It is to be observed that Ahasver also 
owes his existence to an obscure place in the holy Christian 
scriptures. This place is to be found in Matthew xvi : 28. 
First comes the scene where Christ appoints Peter as the 
rock of his church, and nominates him the governor of 
his power. 33 After that follows the prophecy of his 
death, and then comes the passage : 

" Verily, I say unto you, there be some standing here, which 
shall not taste of death till they see the Son of Man coming in his 

Here follows the scene of the transfiguration : 


" And was transfigured before them : and his face did shine 
as the sun, and his raiment was white as the light. 

" And behold there appeared unto them Moses and Elias talk- 
ing with him. 

" Then answered Peter and said unto Jesus, * Lord, it is good 
for us to be here ; if thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles ; 
one for thee and one for Moses and one for Elias.' " 34 

From these passages it appears that Christ stands on 
the same plane as Elias, without being identified with 
him, 35 although the people consider him as Elias. The 
ascension places Christ as identical with Elias. The 
prophecy of Christ shows that there exist aside from 
himself one or more immortals who shall not die until 
Parousai. According to John xxi:22nd verse, the boy 
John was considered as one of these immortals, and in 
the legend he is, in fact, not dead but merely sleeping 
in the ground until Parousai, and breathes so that the 
dust swirls round his grave. 36 As is evident, there are 
passable bridges from Christ by way of Elias to Chidher 
and Ahasuerus. It is said in an account of this legend 3T 
that Dhulqarnein led his friend Chidher to the " source 
of life " in order to have him drink of immortality. 38 
Alexander also bathed in the stream of life and per- 
formed the ritual ablutions. As I previously mentioned in 
a footnote, according to Matthew xvii: I2th verse, John 
the Baptist is Elias, therefore primarily identical with 
Chidher. Now, however, it is to be noted that in the 
Arabian legend Chidher appears rather as a companion 
or accompanied (Chidher with Dhulqarnein or with Elias, 
" like unto them " ; or identified with them 39 ) . There are 
therefore, two similar figures who resemble each other, 


but who, nevertheless, are distinct. The analogous situ- 
ation in the Christian legend is found in the scene by 
the Jordan where John leads Christ to the " source of 
life." Christ is there, the subordinate, John the superior, 
similar to Dhulqarnein and Chidher, or Chidher and 
Moses, also Elias. The latter relation especially is such 
that Vollers compares Chidher and Elias, on the one 
side, with Gilgamesh and his mortal brother Eabani; 
on the other side, with the Dioscuri, one of whom is im- 
mortal, the other mortal. This relation is also found in 
Christ and John the Baptist, 40 on the one hand, and Christ 
and Peter, on the other. The last-named parallel only 
finds its explanation through comparison with the Mith- 
raic mysteries, where the esoteric contents are revealed 
to us through monuments. Upon the Mithraic marble 
relief of Klagenfurt 41 it is represented how with a halo 
Mithra crowns Helios, who either kneels before him or 
else floats up to him from below. Mithra is represented 
on a Mithraic monument of Osterburken as holding in 
his right hand the shoulder of the mystic ox above Helios, 
who stands bowed down before him, the left hand rest- 
ing on a sword hilt. A crown lies between them on the 
ground. Cumont observes about this scene that it prob- 
ably represents the divine prototype of the ceremony of 
the initiation into the degree of Miles, in which a sword 
and a crown were conferred upon the mystic. Helios is, 
therefore, appointed the Miles of Mithra. In a general 
way, Mithra seems to occupy the role of patron to Helios, 
which reminds us of the boldness of Hercules towards 
Helios. Upon his journey towards Geryon, Helios burns 


too hotly; Hercules, full of anger, threatens him with his 
never-failing arrows. Therefore, Helios is compelled to 
yield, and lends to the hero his Sun ship, with which he 
was accustomed to journey across the sea. Thus Hercules 
returns to Erythia, to the cattle herds of Geryon. 42 On 
the monument at Klagenfurt, Mithra is furthermore rep- 
resented pressing Helios's hand, either in farewell or as 
a ratification. In a further scene Mithra mounts the 
Chariot of Helios, either for the ascension or the u Sea 
Journey." 43 Cumont is of the opinion that Mithra gives 
to Helios a sort of ceremonious investiture and conse- 
crates him with his divine power by crowning him with 
his own hands. This relation corresponds to tha.t of 
Christ to Peter. Peter, through his symbol, the cock, has 
the character of a sun-god. After the ascension (or 
sea journey) of Christ, he is the visible pontiff of the 
divinity; he suffers, therefore, the same death (cruci- 
fixion) as Christ, and becomes the great Roman 
deity (Sol invictus), the conquering, triumphant Church 
itself, embodied in the Pope. In the scene of Malchus 
he is always shown as the miles of Christ, to whom the 
sword is granted, and as the rock upon which the Church 
is founded. The crown 44 is also given to him who pos- 
sesses the power to bind and to set free, Thus, Christ, 
like the Sun, is the visible God, whereas the Pope, like 
the heir of the Roman Caesars, is soils invicti comes. 
The setting sun appoints a successor whom he invests 
with the power of the sun. 45 Dhulqarnein gives Chidher 
eternal life. Chidher communicates his wisdom to 
Moses. 46 There even exists a report according to which 


the forgetful servant of Joshua drinks from the well of 
life, whereupon he becomes immortal, and is placed in a 
ship by Chidher and Moses, as a punishment, and is cast 
out to sea, once more a fragment of a sun myth, the 
motive of the u sea journey." 4T 

The primitive symbol, which designates that portion 
of the Zodiac in which the Sun, with the Winter Solstice, 
again enters upon the yearly course, is the goat, fish sign, 
the aiyGOHspcoS. The Sun mounts like a goat to the 
highest mountain, and later goes into the water as a fish. 
The fish is the symbol of the child, 48 for the child before 
his birth lives in the water like a fish, and the Sun, because 
it plunges into the sea, becomes equally child and fish. 
The fish, however, is also a phallic symbol, 49 also a sym- 
bol for the woman. 50 Briefly stated, the fish is a libido 
symbol, and, indeed, as it seems predominately for the 
renewal of the libido. 

The journey of Moses with his servant is a life-journey 
(eighty years). They grow old and lose their life force 
(libido), that is, they lose the fish which "pursues its 
course in a marvellous manner to the sea," which means 
the setting of the sun. When the two notice their loss, 
they discover at the place where the " source of life " is 
found (where the dead fish revived and sprang into the 
sea) Chidher wrapped in his mantle, 51 sitting on the 
ground. According to another version, he sat on an 
island in the sea, or " in the wettest place on earth," that 
is, he was just born from the maternal depths. Where 
the fish vanished Chidher, " the verdant one," was born 
as a " son of the deep waters," his head veiled, a Cabir, 


a proclaimer of divine wisdom; the old Babylonian 
Oannes-Ea, who was represented in the form of a fish, 
and daily came from the sea as a fish to teach the people 
wisdom. 52 His name was brought into connection with 
John's. With the rising of the renewed sun all that lived 
in darkness, as water-animal or fish, surrounded by all* 
terrors of night and death, 53 became as the shining fiery 
firmament of the day. Thus the words of John the Bap- 
tist 54 gain especial meaning: 

" I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, but he that 
cometh after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy 
to bear; he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost and with fire." 

With Vollers we may also compare Chidher and Elias 
(Moses and his servant Joshua) with Gilgamesh and 
his brother Eabani. Gilgamesh wandered through the 
world, driven by anxiety and longing, to find immortality. 
His path led him across the seas to the wise Utnapishtim 
(Noah), who knew how to cross the waters of death. 
There Gilgamesh had to dive down to the bottom of the 
sea for the magical herb which was to lead him back to 
the land of men. When he had come again to his native 
land a serpent stole the magic plant from him (the fish 
again slid into the sea). But on the return from the 
land of the blessed an immortal mariner accompanied 
him, who, banished by a curse of Utnapishtim, was for- 
bidden to return to the land of the blessed. Gilgamesh's 
journey had lost its purpose on account of the loss of the 
magic herb; instead he is accompanied by an immortal, 
whose fate, indeed, we cannot learn from the fragments 


of the epic. This banished immortal is the model for 
Ahasver, as Jensen 55 aptly remarked. 

Again we encounter the motive of the Dioscuri, mortal 
and immortal, setting and rising sun. This motive is also 
represented as if projected from the hero. 

The Sacrificium Mithriacum (the sacrifice of the bull) 
is in its religious representation very often flanked by 
the two Dadophores, Cautes and Cautopates, one with 
a raised and the other with a lowered torch. They repre- 
sent brothers who reveal their character through the sym- 
bolic position of the torch. Cumont connects them, not 
without meaning, with the sepulchral " erotes " who as 
genii with the reversed torches have traditional meaning. 
The one is supposed to stand for death and the other for 
life. I cannot refrain from mentioning the similarity be- 
tween the Sacrificium Mithriacum (where the sacrificed 
bull in the centre is flanked on both sides by Dadophores) 
to the Christian sacrifice of the lamb (ram). The 
Crucified is also traditionally flanked by the two thieves, 
one of whom ascends to Paradise, while the other de- 
scends to Hell. 56 The idea of the mortal and the im- 
mortal seems to have passed also into the Christian 
worship. Semitic gods are often represented as flanked 
by two Paredroi; for example, Baal of Edessa, accom- 
panied by Aziz and Monimoz (Baal as the Sun, accom- 
panied by Mars and Mercury, as expressed in astro- 
nomical teachings). According to the Chaldean view, 
the gods are grouped into triads. In this circle of ideas 
belongs also the Trinity, the idea of the triune God, in 
which Christ must be considered in his unity with the 


Father and the Holy Ghost. So, too, do the two thieves 
belong inwardly to Christ. The two Dadophores are, as 
Cumont points out, nothing but offshoots 57 from the chief 
figure of Mithra, to whom belongs a mysterious three- 
fold character. According to an account of Dionysus 
Areopagita, the magicians celebrated a festival, "rov 
rpin\aaiov MiBpov." * 58 An observation likewise refer- 
ring to the Trinity is made by Plutarch concerning Or- 
muzd: rptt eavrov avgrfGaS dnearrjae rov rfkiov.\ The 
Trinity, as three different states of the unity, is also a 
Christian thought. In the very first place this suggests 
a sun myth. An observation by Macrobius i : 18 seems to 
lend support to this idea : 

" Hae autem aetatum diversitates ad solem referuntur, ut par- 
vulus videatur hiemali solstitio, qualem Aegyptii proferunt ex 
adyto die certa, . . . aequinoctio vernali figura iuvenis ornatur. 
Postea statuitur aetas ejus plenissima effigie barbae solstitio aestivo 
. . . exunde per diminutiones veluti senescenti quarta forma deus 
figuratur." J " 

As Cumont observes, Cautes and Cautapates occasion- 
ally carry in their hands the head of a bull, and a scor- 
pion. 60 Taurus and Scorpio are equinoctial signs, which 
clearly indicate that the sacrificial scene refers primarily 
to the Sun cycle; the rising Sun, which sacrifices itself at 

*Of the threefold Mithra. 

f Having expanded himself threefold, he departed from the sun. 

\ Now these differences in the seasons refer to the Sun, which seems at 
the winter solstice an infant, such as the Egyptians on a certain day bring 
out of their sanctuaries; at the vernal equinox it is represented as a youth. 
Later, at the summer solstice, its age is represented by a full growth of 
beard, while at the last, the god is represented by the gradually diminish- 
ing form of an old man. 


the summer solstice, and the setting Sun. In the sacri- 
ficial scene the symbol of the rising and setting Sun was 
not easily represented; therefore, this idea was removed 
from the sacrificial image. 

We have pointed out above that the Dioscuri represent 
a similar idea, although in a somewhat different form; 
the one sun is always mortal, the other immortal. As 
this entire sun mythology is merely a psychologic pro- 
jection to the heavens, the fundamental thesis probably is 
as follows; just as man consists of a mortal and immortal 
part, so the sun is a pair of brothers, 61 one being mortal, 
the other immortal. This thought lies at the basis of all 
theology in general. Man is, indeed, mortal, but there 
are some who are immortal, or there is something in us 
which is immortal. Thus the gods, " a Chidher or a St. 
Germain," are our immortal part, which, though incom- 
prehensible, dwells among us somewhere. 

Comparison with the sun teaches us over and over 
again that the gods are libido. It is that part of us 
which is immortal, since it represents that bond through 
which we feel that in the race we are never extinguished. 62 
It is life from the life of mankind. Its springs, which well 
up from the depths of the unconscious, come, as does our 
life in general, from the root of the whole of humanity, 
since we are indeed only a twig broken off from the 
mother and transplanted. 

Since the divine in us is the libido, 63 we must not won- 
der that we have taken along with us in our theology 
ancient representations from olden times, which give the 
triune figure to the God. We have taken this rpm\a0iov 


0foV* from the phallic symbolism, the originality of 
which may well be uncontested. 64 The male genitals are 
the basis for this Trinity. It is an anatomical fact that 
one testicle is generally placed somewhat higher than 
the other, and it is also a very old, but, nevertheless, 
still surviving, superstition that one testicle generates a 
boy and the other a girl. 65 A late Babylonian bas-relief 
from Lajard's 66 collection seems to be in accordance with 
this view. In the middle of the image stands an androgy- 
nous god (masculine and feminine face 67 ) ; upon the 
right, male side, is found a serpent, with a sun halo round 
its head; upon the left, female side, there is also a ser- 
pent, with the moon above its head. Above the head of 
the god there are three stars. This ensemble would seem 
to confirm the Trinity 68 of the representation. The Sun 
serpent at the right side is male; the serpent at the left 
side is female (signified by the moon). This image pos- 
sesses a symbolic sexual suffix, which makes the sexual 
significance of the whole obtrusive. Upon the male side 
a rhomb is found a favorite symbol of the female geni- 
tals; upon the female side there is a wheel or felly. A 
wheel always refers to the Sun, but the spokes are thick- 
ened and enlarged at the ends, which suggests phallic 
symbolism. It seems to be a phallic wheel, which was 
not unknown in antiquity. There are obscene bas-reliefs 
where Cupid turns a wheel of nothing but phalli. 69 It is 
not only the serpent which suggests the phallic significance 
of the Sun; I quote one especially marked case, from an 
abundance of proof. In the antique collection at Verona 

* Threefold God. 


I discovered a late Roman mystic inscription in which are 
the following representations : 


These symbols are easily read : Sun Phallus, Moon 

Vagina (Uterus). This interpretation is confirmed by 

another figure of the same collection. There the same 

representation is found, only the vessel 70 is replaced by 

the figure of a woman. The impressions on coins, where 

in the middle a palm is seen encoiled by a snake, flanked 

by two stones (testicles), or else in the middle a stone 

encircled by a snake; to the right a palm, to the left a 

shell (female genitals 71 ), should be interpreted in a 

similar manner. In Lajard's " Researches " (" The Cult 

of Venus ") there is a coin of Perga, where Artemis of 

Perga is represented by a conical stone (phallic) flanked 

by a man (claimed to be Men) and by a female figure 

(claimed to be Artemis). Men (the so-called Lunus) is 

found upon an Attic bas-relief apparently with the spear 

but fundamentally a sceptre with a phallic significance, 

flanked by Pan with a club (phallus) and a female 

figure. 72 The traditional representation of the Crucified 

flanked by John and Mary is closely associated with this 

circle of ideas, precisely as is the Crucified with the 

thieves. From this we see how, beside the Sun, there 

emerges again and again the much more primitive com- 


parison of the libido with the phallus. An especial trace 
still deserves mention here. The Dadophor Cautapates, 
who represents Mithra, is also represented with the cock 73 
and the pineapple. But these are the attributes of the 
Phrygian god Men, whose cult was widely diffused. Men 
was represented with Pileus, 74 the pineapple and the cock, 
also in the form of a boy, just as the Dadophores are 
boyish figures. (This last-named property relates them 
with Men to the Cabiri.) Men has a very close connec- 
tion with Attis, the son and lover of Cybele. In the time 
of the Roman Caesars, Men and Attis were entirely iden- 
tified, as stated above. Attis also wears the Pileus like 
Men, Mithra and the Dadophores. As the son and lover 
of his mother he again leads us to the source of this 
religion-creating incest libido, namely, to the mother. 
Incest leads logically to ceremonial castration in thd 
Attic-Cybele cult, for the Hero, driven insane by his 
mother, mutilates himself. 75 I must at present forego 
entering more deeply into this matter, because the incest 
problem is to be discussed at the close. Let this sugges- 
tion suffice that from different directions the analysis 
of the libido symbolism always leads back again to the 
mother incest. Therefore, we may surmise that the long- 
ing of the libido raised to God (repressed into the un- 
conscious) is a primitive, incestuous one which concerns 
the mother. Through renouncing the virility to the first 
beloved, the mother, the feminine element becomes ex- 
tremely predominant; hence the strongly androgynous 
character of the dying and resurrected Redeemer. That 
these heroes are nearly always wanderers 76 is a psycho- 


logically clear symbolism. The wandering is a repre- 
sentation of longing, 77 of the ever-restless desire, which 
nowhere finds its object, for, unknown to itself, it seeks 
the lost mother. The wandering association renders the 
Sun comparison easily intelligible ; also, under this aspect, 
the heroes always resemble the wandering Sun, which 
seems to justify the fact that the myth of the hero is a 
sun myth. But the myth of the hero, however, is, as it 
appears to me, the myth of our own suffering uncon- 
scious, which has an unquenchable longing for all the 
deepest sources of our own being; for the body of the 
mother, and through it for communion with infinite life 
in the countless forms of existence. Here I must intro- 
duce the words of the Master who has divined the deep- 
est roots of Faustian longings : 

" Unwilling, I reveal a loftier mystery. 
In solitude are throned the Goddesses, 
No Space around them, Place and Time still less: 
Only to speak of them embarrasses. 
They are THE MOTHERS! 

" Goddesses unknown to ye, 
The Mortals, named by us unwillingly. 
Delve in the deepest depths must thou to reach them: 
Tis thine own fault that we for help beseech them. 

"Where is the way? 

" No way ! To the Unreachable, 
Ne'er to be trodden ! A way to the Unbeseechable, 
Never to be besought ! Art thou prepared ? 
There are no locks, no latches to be lifted ! 
Through endless solitudes shalt thou be drifted! 
Hast thou through solitudes and deserts dared? 


And hadst them swum to farthest verge of ocean 
And there the boundless space beheld, 
Still hadst thou seen wave after wave in motion, 
Even though impending doom thy fear compelled. 
Thou hadst seen something in the beryl dim 
Of peace-lulled seas, the sportive dolphins swim ; 
Hadst seen the flying clouds, sun, moon and star; 
Nought shalt thou see in endless Void afar 
Not hear thy footstep fall, nor meet 
A stable spot to rest thy feet. 

"Here, take this key! 

The Key will scent the true place from all others; 
Follow it down ! 'Twill lead thee to the Mothers. 

" Descend then ! I could also say : Ascend ! 
'Twere all the same. Escape from the Created 
To shapeless forms in liberated spaces! 
Enjoy what long ere this was dissipated! 
There whirls the press, like clouds on clouds unfolding; 
Then with stretched arm swing high the key thou'rt holding! 

" At last a blazing tripod, 78 tells thee this, 
That there the utterly deepest bottom is. 
Its light to thee will then the Mothers show, 
Some in their seats, the others stand or go, 
At their own will: Formation, Transformation, 
The Eternal Mind's eternal recreation, 
Forms of all Creatures, there are floating free. 
They'll see thee not! for only wraiths they see. 
So pluck up heart, the danger then is great. 
Go to the tripod ere thou hesitate, 
And touch it with the key." 



THE vision following the creation of the hero is de- 
scribed by Miss Miller as a " throng of people." This 
representation is known to us from dream interpretation 
as being, above all, the symbol of mystery. 1 Freud 
thinks that this choice of symbol is determined on ac- 
count of its possibility of representing the idea. The 
bearer of the mystery is placed in opposition to the multi- 
tude of the ignorant. The possession of the mystery cuts 
one off from intercourse with the rest of mankind. For 
a very complete and smooth rapport with the surround- 
ings is of great importance for the management of the 
libido and the possession of a subjectively important 
secret generally creates a great disturbance. It may be 
said that the whole art of life shrinks to the one problem 
of how the libido may be freed in the most harmless way 
possible. Therefore, the neurotic derives special benefit 
in treatment when he can at last rid himself of his various 
secrets. The symbol of the crowd of people, chiefly the 
streaming and moving mass, is, as I have often seen, 
substituted for the great excitement in the unconscious, 
especially in persons who are outwardly calm. 



The vision of the "throng" develops further; horses 
emerge; a battle is fought. With Silberer, I might accept 
the significance of this vision as belonging, first of all, in 
the " functional category," because, fundamentally, the 
conception of the intermingling crowds is nothing but the 
symbol of the present onrush of the mass of thought; 
likewise the battle, and possibly the horses, which illus- 
trate the movement. The deeper significance of the ap- 
pearance of the horses will be seen for the first time in 
the further course of our treatment of the mother sym- 
bolism. The following vision has a more definite and 
significantly important character. Miss Miller sees a 
City of Dreams (" Cite de Reves"). The picture is 
similar to one she saw a short time before on the cover 
of a magazine. Unfortunately, we learn nothing further 
about it. One can easily imagine under this " Cite de 
Reves " a fulfilled wish dream, that is to say, something 
very beautiful and greatly longed for; a sort of heavenly 
Jerusalem, as the poet of the Apocalypse has dreamed it. 
The city is a maternal symbol, a woman who fosters the 
inhabitants as children. It is, therefore, intelligible that 
the two mother goddesses, Rhea and Cybele, both 
wear the wall crown. The Old Testament treats the 
cities of Jerusalem, Babel, etc., as women (Isaiah 
xlvii: 1-5) : 

" Come down and sit in the dust, O virgin daughter of Babylon, 
sit on the ground: there is no throne, O daughter of the Chal- 
deans ; for thou shalt no more be called tender and delicate. Take 
the millstones and grind meal; uncover thy locks, make bare the 
leg, uncover the thigh, pass over the rivers. That thy nakedness 


shall be uncovered, yea, thy shame shall be seen; sit thou silent, 
and get thee into darkness, O daughter of the Chaldeans; for 
thou shalt no more be called the lady of the kingdoms." 

Jeremiah says of Babel (1: 12) : 

" Your mother shall be sore confounded ; she that bare you shall 
be ashamed." 

Strong, unconquered cities are virgins; colonies are 
sons and daughters. Cities are also whores. Isaiah says 
of Tyre (xxiii: 16) : 

" Take an harp, go about the city, thou harlot; thou hast been 


" How does it come to pass that the virtuous city has become 
an harlot? " 

We come across a similar symbolism in the myth of 
Ogyges, the mythical king who rules in Egyptian Thebes 
and whose wife was appropriately named Thebe. The 
Boeotian Thebes founded by Cadmus received on that 
account a surname, u Ogygian." This surname was also 
given to the great flood, as it was called u Ogygian " be- 
cause it occurred under Ogyges. This coincidence will be 
found later on to be hardly accidental. The fact that 
the city and the wife of Ogyges bear the same name indi- 
cates that somewhere a relation must exist between the 
city and the woman, which is not difficult to understand, 
for the city is identical with the woman. We meet a 
similar idea in Hindoo lore where Indra appears as the 


husband of Urvara, but Urvara means- " the fertile 
land." In a similar way the occupancy of a country by 
the king was understood as marriage with the ploughed 
land. Similar representations must have prevailed in 
Europe as well. Princes had to guarantee, for example, 
a good harvest at their accession. The Swedish King 
Domaldi was actually killed on account of the failure of 
the harvest (Ynglinga saga 18). In the Rama saga the 
hero Rama marries Sita, the furrow of the field. 2 To 
the same group of ideas belongs the Chinese custom of 
the Emperor ploughing a furrow at his ascension to the 
throne. This idea of the soil being feminine also em- 
braces the idea of continual companionship with the 
woman, a physical communication. Shiva, the Phallic 
God, is, like Mahadeva and Parwati, male and female. 
He has even given one-half of his body to his consort 
Parwati as a dwelling place. 3 Inman 4 gives us a drawing 
of a Pundite of Ardanari-Iswara; one-half of the god 
is masculine, the other half feminine, and the genitals 
are in continuous cohabitation. The motive of continu- 
ous cohabitation is expressed in a well-known lingam 
symbol, which is to be found everywhere in Indian 
temples; the base is a female symbol, and within that is 
the phallus. 5 The symbol approaches very closely the 
Grecian mystic phallic basket and chests. (Compare with 
this the Eleusinian mysteries.) The chest or box is here 
a female symbol, that is, the mother's womb. This is a 
very well-known conception in the old mythologies. 6 The 
chest, basket or little basket, with its precious contents, 
was thought of as floating on the water; a remarkable 


inversion of the natural fact that the child floats in the 
amniotic fluid and that this is in the uterus. 

This inversion brings about a great advantage for sub- 
limation, for it creates enormous possibilities of appli- 
cation for the myth-weaving phantasy, that is to say, for 
the annexation to the sun cycle. The Sun floats over the 
sea like an immortal god, which every evening is im- 
mersed in the maternal water and is born again renewed 
in the morning. Frobenius says: 

" Perhaps in connection with the blood-red sunrise, the idea 
occurs that here a birth takes place, the birth of a young son ; the 
question then arises inevitably, whence comes the paternity? How 
has the woman become pregnant? And since this woman sym- 
bolizes the same idea as the fish, which means the sea, (because 
we proceed from the assumption that the Sun descends into the 
sea as well as arises from it) thus the curious primitive answer 
is that this sea has previously swallowed the old Sun. Conse- 
quently the resulting myth is, that the woman (sea) has formerly 
devoured the Sun and now brings a new Sun into the wprld, and 
thus she has become pregnant." 

All these sea-going gods are* sun symbols. They are 
enclosed in a chest or an ark for the " night journey on 
the sea" (Frobenius), often together with a woman 
(again an inversion of the actual situation, but in sup- 
port of the motive of continuous cohabitation, which we 
have met above). During the night journey on the sea 
the Sun-god is enclosed in the mother's womb, often- 
times threatened by dangers of all kinds. Instead of 
many individual examples, I will content myself with re- 


producing the scheme which Frobenius has constructed 

from numberless myths of this sort : 

f Heat-hair 

, *rut _ East \ TO slip out 

To devour < TQ 

*ocment (sea j 

To land 


Frobenius gives the following legend to illustrate this : 

"A hero is devoured by a water monster in the West (to 
devour). The animal carries him within him to the East (sea 
journey). Meanwhile, he kindles a fire in the belly of the 
monster (to set on fire) and since he feels hungry he cuts off a piece 
of the hanging heart (to cut off the heart). Soon after he notices 
that the fish glides upon the dry land (to land) ; he immediately 
begins to cut open the animal from within outwards (to open) 
then he slides out (to slip out). In the fish's belly, it had been 
so hot, that all his hair had fallen out (heat-hair). The hero 
frequently frees all who were previously devoured (to devour all) 
and all now slide out (slip out)." 

A very close parallel is Noah's journey during the 
flood, in which all living creatures die ; only he and the life 
guarded by him are brought to a new birth. In a Mela- 
polynesian legend (Frobenius) it is told that the hero in 
the belly of the King Fish took his weapon and cut open 
the fish's belly. " He slid out and saw a splendor, and 
he sat down and reflected. * I wonder where I am,' he 
said. Then the sun rose with a bound and turned from 


one side to the other." The Sun has again slipped out 
Frobenius mentions from the Ramayana the myth of 
the ape Hanuman, who represents the Sun-hero. The 
sun in which Hanuman hurries through the air throws a 
shadow upon the sea. The sea monster notices this and 
through this draws Hanuman toward itself ; when the latter 
sees that the monster is about to devour him, he stretches 
out his figure immeasurably; the monster assumes the 
same gigantic proportions. As he does that Hanuman 
becomes as small as a thumb, slips into the great body 
of the monster and comes out on the other side. In an- 
other part of the poem it is said that he came out from 
the right ear of the monster (like Rabelais' Gargantua, 
who also was born from the mother's ear). " Hanuman 
thereupon resumes his flight, and finds a new obstacle in 
another sea monster, which is the mother of Rahus, the 
sun-devouring demon. The latter draws Hanuman's 
shadow 7 to her in the same way. Hanuman again has 
recourse to the earlier stratagem, becomes small and slips 
into her body, but hardly is he there than he grows to a 
gigantic mass, swells up, tears her, kills her, and in that 
way makes his escape." 

Thus we understand why the Indian fire-bringer Ma- 
tariqvan is called " the one swelling in the mother "; the 
ark (little box, chest, cask, vessel, etc.) is a symbol of 
the womb, just as is the sea, into which the Sun sinks 
for rebirth. From this circle of ideas we understand the 
mythologic statements about Ogyges; he it is who pos- 
sesses the mother, the City, who is united with the mother; 
therefore under him came the great flood, for it is a 


typical fragment of the sun myth that the hero, when 
united with the woman attained with difficulty, is exposed 
in a cask and thrown into the sea, and then lands for a 
new life on a distant shore. The middle part, the " night 
journey on the sea " in the ark, is lacking in the tradition 
of Ogyges. 8 But the rule in mythology is that the typical 
parts of a myth can be united in all conceivable varia- 
tions, which adds greatly to the extraordinary difficulty 
of the interpretation of a particular myth without knowl- 
edge of all the others. The meaning of this cycle of 
myths mentioned here is clear; it is the longing to attain 
rebirth through the return to the mother's womb, that is 
to say, to become as immortal as the sun. This longing 
for the mother is frequently expressed in our holy scrip- 
tures. 9 I recall, particularly the place in the epistle 
to the Galatians, where it is said (iv: 26) : 

(26) "But Jerusalem which is above is free, which is the 
mother of us all. 

(27) " For it is written, Rejoice, thou barren that beareth not: 
break forth and cry, thou that travailest not : for the desolate hath 
many more children than she which hath an husband. 

(28) " Now we, brethren, as Isaac was, are the children of 

(29) " But as he that was born after the flesh persecuted him 
that was born after the spirit, even so it is now. 

(30) " Nevertheless, what sayeth the scripture? Cast out the 
bondwoman and her son; for the son of a bondwoman shall not 
be heir with the son of a freewoman. 

(31) "So, then, brethren, we are not children of the bond- 
woman, but of the free." 

Chapter v: 


( I ) " Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ 
has made us free." 

The Christians are the children of the City Above, a 
symbol of the mother, not sons of the earthly city-mother, 
who is to be cast out; for those born after the flesh are 
opposed to those born after the spirit, who are not born 
from the mother in the flesh, but from a symbol for 
the mother. One must again think of the Indians at this 
point, who say the first people proceeded from the sword- 
hilt and a shuttle. The religious thought is bound up with 
the compulsion to call the mother no longer mother, but 
City, Source, Sea, etc. This compulsion can be derived 
from the need to manifest an amount of libido bound up 
with the mother, but in such a way that the mother is 
represented by or concealed in a symbol. The symbolism 
of the city we find well-developed in the revelations of 
John, where two cities play a great part, one of which 
is insulted and cursed by him, the other greatly desired. 
We read in Revelation (xvii: i) : 

1 i ) " Come hither : I will shew unto thee the judgment of 
the great whore that sitteth on many waters. 

(2) " With whom the kings of the earth have committed forni- 
cation and the inhabitants of the earth have been made drunk 
with the wine of her fornication. 

(3) " So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: 
and I saw a woman sit on a scarlet colored beast, full of the 
names of blasphemy, and having seven heads and ten horns. 

(4) " And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colors, 
and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a 
golden cup 10 in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of 
her fornication. 

(5) "And upon her forehead was a name written: Mystery. 


Babylon the great. The Mother of Harlots and Abominations 
of the Earth. 

(6) " And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of saints, 
and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her 
I wondered with a great admiration." 

Here follows an interpretation of the vision unintel- 
ligible to us, from which we can only emphasize the point 
that the seven heads 1J of the dragon means the seven 
hills upon which the woman sits. This is probably a dis- 
tinct allusion to Rome, the city whose temporal power 
oppressed the world at the time of the Revelation. The 
waters upon which the woman u the mother " sits are 
" peoples and throngs and nations and tongues." This 
also seems to refer to Rome, for she is the mother of 
peoples and possessed all lands. Just as in common 
speech, for example, colonies are called daughters, so 
the people subject to Rome are like members of a family 
subject to the mother. In another version of the picture, 
the kings of the people, namely, the fathers, commit 
fornication with this mother. Revelation continues 
(xviii: 2) : 

(2) " And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Baby- 
lon the Great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of 
devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every 
unclean and hateful bird. 

(3) "For all nations have drunk of the wine of the wrath 
of her fornication." 

Thus this mother does not only become the mother of 
all abominations, but also in truth the receptacle of all 
that is wicked and unclean. The birds are images of 


souls; 12 therefore, this means all souls of the condemned 
and evil spirits. Thus the mother becomes Hecate, the 
underworld, the City of the damned itself. We recog- 
nize easily in the ancient idea of the woman on the 
dragon, 13 the above-mentioned representation of Echnida, 
the mother of the infernal horrors. Babylon is the idea 
of the " terrible " mother, who seduces all people to 
whoredom with devilish temptation, and makes them 
drunk with her wine. The intoxicating drink stands in 
the closest relation to fornication, for it is also a libido 
symbol, as we have already seen in the parallel of fire 
and sun. After the fall and curse of Babylon, we find in 
Revelation (xix:6-7) the hymn which leads from the 
under half to the upper half of the mother, where now 
everything is possible which would be impossible without 
the repression of incest: 

(6) "Alleluia, the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. 

(7) " Let us be glad and rejoice, and give honor to him: for 
the marriage of the Lamb is come, 14 and his wife hath made 
herself ready. 

(8) "And to her was granted that she should be arrayed in 
fine linen, clean and white: for the fine linen is the righteousness 
of saints. 

(9) " And he saith unto me, ' Write, Blessed are they which 
are called unto the marriage supper of the Lamb.' " 

The Lamb is the son of man who celebrates his mar- 
riage with the " woman." Who the " woman " is re- 
mains obscure at first. But Revelation (xxi: 9) shows us 
which " woman " is the bride, the Lamb's wife: 

(9) " Come hither, I will show thee the bride, the Lamb's 
wife. 15 


( 10) " And he carried me away in the spirit to a great and 
high mountain, and showed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, 
descending out of heaven from God, having the glory of God." 

It is evident from this quotation, after all that goes be- 
fore, that the City, the heavenly bride, who is here 
promised to the Son, is the mother. 16 In Babylon the 
impure maid was cast out, according to the Epistle to the 
Galatians, so that here in heavenly Jerusalem the mother- 
bride may be attained the more surely. It bears witness 
to the most delicate psychologic perception that the 
fathers of the church who formulated the canons pre- 
served this bit of the symbolic significance of the Christ 
mystery. It is a treasure house for the phantasies and 
myth materials which underlie primitive Christianity. 17 
The further attributes which were heaped upon the heav- 
enly Jerusalem make its significance as mother over- 
whelmingly clear : 

1 i ) " And he shewed me a pure river of water of life, clear 
as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. 

(2) "In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of 
the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner 
of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month, and the leaves of 
the tree were for the healing of nations. 

(3) "And there shall be no more curse." 

In this quotation we come upon the symbol of the 
waters, which we found in the mention of Ogyges in con- 
nection with the city. The maternal significance of water 
belongs to the clearest symbolism in the realm of my- 
thology, 18 so that the ancients could say: rj BdXaGGa 
rrjs yevtffe&g avpftoXov.* From water comes life ; 19 

*The sea is the symbol of birth. 


therefore, of the two gods which here interest us the most, 
Christ and Mithra, the latter was born beside a river, 
according to representations, while Christ experienced his 
new birth in the Jordan; moreover, he is born from the 
Tlriyrt the " sempiterni fons amoris," the mother of 
God, who by the heathen-Christian legend was made a 
nymph of the Spring. The " Spring " is also found in 
Mithracism. A Pannonian dedication reads, " Fonti 
perenni." An inscription in Apulia is dedicated to the 
" Fons Aeterni." In Persia, Ardvigura is the well of the 
water of life. Ardvicjara-Anahita is a goddess of water 
and love (just as Aphrodite is born from foam). The 
neo-Persians designate the Planet Venus and a nubile girl 
by the name " Nahid." In the temples of Anaitis there 
existed prostitute Hierodules (harlots). In the Sakaeen 
(in honor of Anaitis) there, occurred ritual combats as 
in the festival of the Egyptian Ares and his mother. In 
the Vedas the waters are called Matritamah the most 
maternal. 20 All that is living rises as does the sun, from 
the water, and at evening plunges into the water. Born 
from the springs, the rivers, the seas, at death man arrives 
at the waters of the Styx in order to enter upon the 
" night journey on the sea." The wish is that the black 
water of death might be the water of life; that death, 
with its cold embrace, might be the mother's womb, just 
as the sea devours the sun, but brings it forth again out 
of the maternal womb (Jonah motive 21 ). Life believes 
not in death. 

" In the flood of life, in the torrent of deeds, 
I toss up and down, 


I am blown to and fro! 

Cradle and grave, 

An eternal sea; 

A changing web, 

A glowing life." Goethe: Faust. 

That Zv\ov 2Goi??,the wood of life, or the tree of life, is 
a maternal symbol would seem to follow from the pre- 
vious deductions. The etymologic connection of vco, 
v^rf, vws, in the Indo-Germanic root suggests the blend- 
ing of the meanings in the underlying symbolism of 
mother and of generation. The tree of life is probably, 
first of all, a fruit-bearing genealogical tree, that is, a 
mother-image. Countless myths prove the derivation of 
man from trees; many myths show how the hero is en- 
closed in the maternal tree thus dead Osiris in the 
column, Adonis in the myrtle, etc. Numerous female 
divinities were worshipped as trees, from which resulted 
the cult of the holy groves and trees. It is of transparent 
significance when Attis castrates himself under a pine 
tree, i. e. he does it because of the mother. Goddesses 
were often worshipped in the form of a tree or of a 
wood. Thus Juno of Thespiae was a branch of a tree, 
Juno of Samos was a board. Juno of Argos was a 
column. The Carian Diana was an uncut piece of wood. 
Athene of Lindus was a polished column. Tertullian 
calls Ceres of Pharos- " rudis palus et informe lignum 
sine effigie." Athenaeus remarks of Latona at Dalos that 
she is gvXivov ajjiopcpov, a shapeless piece of wood. 22 
Tertullian calls an Attic Pallas " crucis stipes," a wooden 
pale or mast. The wooden pale is phallic, as the name 


suggests, (pdhrfS, Pallus. The (pa\\6$ is a pale, a cere- 
monial lingam carved out of figwood, as are all Roman 
statues of Priapus. Qahos means a projection or centre- 
piece on the helmet, later called H&VOS, just as dva- 
<pa\-arTiaffi? signifies baldheadedness on the forepart 
of the head, and (paXaxpoz signifies baldheadedness in re- 
gard to the (pakoS-K&vos of the helmet; a semi-phallic 
meaning is given to the upper part of the head as well. 25 
$ak\r)vos has, besides (pak\os, the significance of 
." wooden "ipaX-dyyat/JUx," cylinder "i<pdXay 9 " a round 
beam/' The Macedonian battle array, distinguished by 
its powerful impetus, is called (pdhay$ moreover, the 
finger-joint 24 is called cpdXayZ. <pd\\aiv a or (pdXaiva 
is a whale. Now tpdkot appears with the meaning 
" shining, brilliant." The Indo-Germanic root is bhale 
= to bulge, to swell. 25 Who does not think of Faust? 

" It grows, it shines, increases in my hand ! " 

That is primitive libido symbolism, which shows how 
immediate is the connection between phallic libido and 
light. The same relations are found in the Rigveda in 
Rudra's utterances. 

Rigveda I, 114, 3: 

"May we obtain your favor, thou man ruling, Oh urinating 

I refer here to the previously mentioned phallic sym- 
bolism of Rudra in the Upanishads : 

(4) "We call for help below to the flaming Rudra, to the 
one bringing the sacrifice; him who encircles and wanders (wan- 
dering in the vault of Heaven) to the seer." 


2, 33, 5: 

" He who opens up the sweet, who listens to our calls, the 
ruddy one, with the beautiful helmet, may he not give us over 
to the powers of jealousy. 

(6) "I have been rejoiced by the bull connected with Marut, 
the supplicating one with strong force of life. 

(8) " Sound the powerful song of praise to the ruddy bull to 
the white shining one; worship the flaming one with honor, we 
sing of the shining being Rudra. 

" May Rudra's missile (arrow) not be used on us, may the 
great displeasure of the shining one pass us by: Unbend the firm 
(bow or hard arrow?) for the princes, thou who blessest with 
the waters of thy body (generative strength), be gracious to our 
children and grandchildren." 26 

In this way we pass from the realm of mother sym- 
bolism imperceptibly into the realm of male phallic 
symbolism. This element also lies in the tree, even in 
the family tree, as is distinctly shown by the mediaeval 
family trees. From the first ancestor there grows up- 
ward, in the place of the " membrum virile," the trunk 
of the great tree. The bisexual symbolic character of the 
tree is intimated by the fact that in Latin trees have a 
masculine termination and a feminine gender. 27 The 
feminine (especially the maternal) meaning of the forest 
and the phallic significance of trees in dreams is well 
known. I mention an example. 

It concerns a woman who had always been nervous, 
and who, after many years of marriage, became ill as a 
result of the typical retention of the libido. She had the 
following dream after she had learned to know a young 
man of many engaging free opinions who was very pleas- 
ing to her: She found herself in a garden where stood 


a remarkable exotic tree with strange red fleshy flowers 
or fruits. She picked them and ate them. Then, to her 
horror, she felt that she was poisoned. This dream idea 
may easily be understood by means of the antique or 
poetic symbolism, so I can spare information as to the 
analytic material. 

The double significance of the tree is readily explained 
by the fact that such symbols are not to be understood 
" anatomically " but psychologically as libido symbols; 
therefore, it is not permissible to interpret the tree on 
account of its similar form as directly phallic; it can also 
be called a woman or the uterus of the mother. The 
uniformity of the significance lies alone in the similarity 
to the libido. 28 One loses one's way in one " cul de sac " 
after another by saying that this is the symbol substituted 
for the mother and that for the penis. In this realm 
there is no fixed significance of things. The only reality 
here is the libido, for which " all that is perishable is 
merely a symbol." It is not the physical actual mother, 
but the libido of the son, the object of which was once 
the mother. We take mythologic symbols much too con- 
cretely and wonder at every step about the endless con* 
tradictions. These contradictions arise only because we 
constantly forget that in the realm of phantasy " feeling 
is all." Whenever we read, therefore, t( his mother was 
a wicked sorcerer," the translation is as follows: The 
son is in love with her, namely, he is unable to detach his 
libido from the mother-imago; he therefore suffers from 
incestuous resistance. 

The symbolism of water and trees, which are met with 


as further attributes in the symbol of the City, also refer 
to that amount of libido which unconsciously is fastened 
to the mother-imago. In certain parts of Revelation 
the unconscious psychology of religious longing is re- 
vealed, namely, the longing for the mother. 29 The ex- 
pectation of Revelation ends in the mother: nal nav 
Haradejjia OVH elffrai STI. (" and there shall be no more 
curse "). There shall be no more sins, no repression, no 
disharmony with one's self, no guilt, no fear of death and 
no pain of separation more ! 

Thus Revelation echoes that same radiant mystical 
harmony which was caught again 2,000 years later and 
expressed poetically in the last prayer of Dr. Marianus : 

" Penitents, look up, elate, 
Where she beams salvation; 
Gratefully to blessed fate 
Grow, in recreation! 
Be our souls, as they have been, 
Dedicate to thee! 
Virgin Holy, Mother, Queen, 
Goddess, gracious be!" Goethe: Faust. 

One principal question arisec at the sight of this beauty 
and greatness of feeling, that is, whether the primary 
tendency compensated by religion is not too narrowly 
understood as incestuous. I have previously observed in 
regard to this that I consider the " resistance opposed to 
libido " as in a general way coincident with the incest pro- 
hibition. I must leave open for the present the definition 
of the psychological incest conception. However, I will 
here emphasize the point that it is most especially the 


totality of the sun myth which proves to us that the 
fundamental basis of the " incestuous " desire does not 
aim at cohabitation, but at the special thought of becom- 
ing a child again, of turning back to the parent's protec- 
tion, of coming into the mother once more in order to be 
born again. But incest stands in the path to this goal, 
that is to say, the necessity of in some way again gaining 
entrance into the mother's womb. One of the simplest 
ways would be to impregnate the mother, and to repro- 
duce one's self identically. But here the incest prohibition 
interferes; therefore, the myths of the sun or of rebirth 
teem with all possible proposals as to how incest can be 
evaded. A very simple method of avoidance is to trans- 
form the mother into another being or to rejuvenate 30 
her after birth has occurred, to have her disappear again 
or have her change back. It is not incestuous cohabita- 
tion which is desired, but the rebirth, which now is at- 
tained most readily through cohabitation. But this is 
not the only way, although perhaps the original one. The 
resistance to the incest prohibition makes the phantasy 
inventive; for example, it was attempted to impregnate 
the mother by means of a magic charm of fertility (to 
wish for a child). Attempts in this respect remain in 
the stage of mythical phantasies; but they have one re- 
sult, and that is the exercise of the phantasy which 
gradually produces paths through the creation of phan- 
tastic possibilities, in which the libido, taking an active 
part, can flow off. Thus the libido becomes spiritualized 
in an imperceptible manner. The power " which always 
wishes evil " thus creates a spiritual life. Therefore, in 


religions, this course is now raised to a system. On that 
account it is exceedingly instructive to see how religion 
takes pains to further these symbolic transferences. 31 
The New Testament furnishes us with an excellent ex- 
ample in regard to this. Nicodemus, in the speech re- 
garding rebirth, cannot forbear understanding the matter 
very realistically. 

John iii: 4: 

(4) " How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter 
a second time into his mother's womb, and be born ? " 

But Jesus endeavors to raise into purity the sensuous 
view of Nicodemus's mind moulded in materialistic 
heaviness, and announces to him really the same and 
yet not the same : 

(5) " Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of 
water and of the spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of 

(6) "That which is born of the flesh is flesh: and that which 
is born of the spirit is spirit. 

(7) " Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born 

(8) " The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the 
sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh and whither 
it goeth ; so is everyone that is born of the spirit." 

To be born of water means simply to be born from the 
mother's womb. To be born of the spirit means to be 
born from the fructifying breath of the wind; this we 
learn from the Greek text (where spirit and wind are ex- 
pressed by the same word, nvev^a) TO yeyevvrjusvov 
SH Tff? ffacpnoS ffap effTiv, uai TO yeyevvrj^evov en TOV 


TtrevjucxTO? nvevjAa effnv. To 7tvevp.a OTTOV 6e\.ei TfveT,* 

This symbolism rose from the same need as that which 
produced the Egyptian legend of the vultures, the mother 
symbol. They were only females and were fertilized by 
the wind. One recognizes very clearly the ethical de- 
mand as the foundation of these mythologic assertions: 
thou must say of the mother that she was not Impreg- 
nated by a mortal in the ordinary way, but by a spiritual 
being in an unusual manner. This demand stands in 
strict opposition to the real truth; therefore, the myth 
is a fitting solution. One can say it was a hero who died 
and was born again in a remarkable manner, and in this 
way attained immortality. The need which this demand 
asserts is evidently a prohibition against a definite phan- 
tasy concerning the mother. A son may naturally think 
that a father has generated him in a carnal way, but not 
that he himself impregnated the mother and so caused 
himself to be born again into renewed youth. This in- 
cestuous phantasy which for some reason possesses an 
extraordinary strength, 32 and, therefore, appears as a 
compulsory wish, is repressed and, conforming to the 
above demand, under certain conditions, expresses itself 
again, symbolically, concerning the problem of birth, or 
rather concerning individual rebirth from the mother. 
In Jesus's challenge to Nicodemus we clearly recognize 
this tendency: "Think not carnally or thou art carnal, 
but think symbolically, then art thou spirit." It is evident 

*That which is born of the flesh is flesh and that which is born of 
the spirit is spirit; the spirit bloweth where it listeth. 


how extremely educative and developing this compulsion 
toward symbolism can be. Nicodemus would remain fixed 
in low commonplaces if he did not succeed in raising him- 
self through symbols above this repressed incestuous 
desire. As a righteous philistine of culture, he probably 
was not very anxious for this effort, because men seem 
really to remain satisfied in repressing the incestuous 
libido, and at best to express it by some modest religious 
exercises. Yet it seems to be important, on the other 
side, that man should not merely renounce and. repress 
and thereby remain firmly fixed in the incestuous bond, 
but that he should redeem those dynamic forces which 
lie bound up in incest, in order to fulfil himself. For man 
needs his whole libido, to fill out the boundaries of his 
personality, and then, for the first time, he is in a condi- 
tion to do his best. The paths by which man may mani- 
fest his incestuously fixed libido seem to have been 
pointed out by the religious mythologic symbols. On this 
account Jesus teaches Nicodemus : " Thou thinkest of 
thy incestuous wish for rebirth, but thou must think that 
thou art born from the water and that thou art generated 
by the breath of the wind, 33 and in this way thou shalt 
share in eternal life." 

Thus the libido which lies inactive in the incestuous 
bond repressed and in fear of the law and the avenging 
Father God can be led over into sublimation through the 
symbol of baptism (birth from water) and of generation 
(spiritual birth) through the symbol of the descent of the 
Holy Ghost. Thus man becomes a child 34 again and is 
born into a circle of brothers and sisters; but his mother 


is the "communion of the saints," the -church, and his 
circle of brothers and sisters is humanity, with whom he is 
united anew in the common inheritance of the primitive 

It seems that at the time in which Christianity had its 
origin this process was especially necessary; for that 
period, as the result of the incredible contrast between 
slavery and the freedom of the citizens and masters, had 
entirely lost the consciousness of the common bond of 
mankind. One of the next and most essential reasons for 
the energetic regression to the infantile in Christianity, 
which goes hand in hand with the revival of the incest 
problem, was probably to be found in the far-reaching 
depreciation of women. At that time sexuality was so 
easily attainable that the result could only be a very ex- 
cessive depreciation of the sexual object. The existence 
of personal values was first discovered by Christianity, 
and there are many people who have not discovered it 
even in the present day. However, the depreciation of 
the sexual object hinders the outflow of that libido which 
cannot be satisfied by sexual activity, because it belongs 
to an already desexualized higher order. (If it were 
not so, a Don Juan could never be neurotic; but the con- 
trary is the case.) For how might those higher valua- 
tions be given to a worthless, despised object? There- 
fore, the libido, after having seen a " Helen in every 
woman " for so long a time, sets out on a search for the 
difficult to obtain, the worshipped, but perhaps unattain- 
able, goal, and which in the unconscious is the mother. 
Therefore the symbolic needs, based on the incest resist 


ance, arise again in an increased degree, which promptly 
transforms the beautiful, sinful world of the Olympian 
Gods into incomprehensible, dreamlike, dark mysteries, 
which, with their accessions of symbols and obscure mean- 
ingful texts, remove us very far from the religious 
feelings of that Roman-Graeco world. When we see 
how much trouble Jesus took to make acceptable to Nico- 
demus the symbolic perception of things, that is to say, 
really a repression and veiling over of the actual facts, 
and how important it was for the history of civilization 
in general, that people thought and still think in this 
way, then we understand the revolt which is raised every- 
where against the psychologic discovery of the true back- 
ground of the neurotic or normal symbolism. Always 
and everywhere we encounter the odious realm of sexual- 
ity, which represents to all righteous people of to-day 
something defiled. However, less than 2,000 years have 
passed since the religious cult of sexuality was more or 
less openly in full bloom. To be sure, they were heathen 
and did not know better, but the nature of religious power 
does not change from cycle to cycle. If one has once re- 
ceived an effectual impression of the sexual contents of 
the ancient cults, and if one realizes oneself that the re- 
ligious experience, that is, the union 35 with the God of 
antiquity, was understood by antiquity as a more or less 
concrete coitus, then truly one can no longer fancy that 
the motor forces of a religion have suddenly become 
wholly different since the birth of Christ. Exactly the 
same thing has occurred as with the hysteric who at first 
indulges in some quite unbeautiful, infantile sexual mani- 


festations and afterwards develops a hyperaesthetic nega- 
tion in order to convince every one of his special purity. 
Christianity, with its repression of the manifest sexual, is 
the negative of the ancient sexual cult. The original cult 
has changed its tokens. 36 One only needs to realize how 
much of the gay paganism, even to the inclusion of un- 
seemly Gods, has been taken into the Christian church. 
Thus the old indecent Priapus celebrated a gay festival of 
resurrection in St. Tychon. 37 Also partly in the physicians 
Sts. Kosma and Damien, who graciously condescended to 
accept the " membra virilia " in wax at their festival. 38 
St. Phallus of old memories emerges again to be wor- 
shipped in country chapels, to say nothing of the rest of 
the paganism! 

There are those who have not yet learned to recognize 
sexuality as a function equivalent to hunger and who, 
therefore, consider it as disgraceful that certain taboo 
institutions which were considered as asexual refuges are 
now recognized as overflowing with sexual symbolism. 
Those people are doomed to the painful realization that 
such is still the case, in spite of their great revolt. One 
must learn to understand that, opposed to the customary 
habit of thought, psychoanalytic thinking reduces and 
resolves those symbolic structures which have become 
more and more complicated through countless elabora- 
tion. This means a course of reduction which would 
be an intellectual enjoyment if the object were different. 
But here it becomes distressing, not only aesthetically, but 
apparently also ethically, because the repressions which 
are to be overcome have been brought about by our best 


intentions. We must commence to overcome our virtu- 
ousness with the certain fear of falling into baseness on 
the other side. This is certainly true, for virtuousness is 
always inwardly compensated by a great tendency towards 
baseness; and how many profligate* are there who in- 
wardly preserve a mawkish virtue and moral megalo- 
mania? Both categories of men turn out to be snobs 
when they come in contact with analytic psychology, be- 
cause the moral man has imagined an objective and cheap 
verdict on sexuality and the unmoral man is entirely un- 
aware of the vulgarity of his sexuality and of his inca- 
pacity for an unselfish love. One completely forgets that 
one can most miserably be carried away, not only by a 
vice, but also by a virtue. There is a fanatic orgiastic 
self-righteousness which is just as base and which entails 
just as much injustice and violence as a vice. 

At this time, when a large part of mankind is begin- 
ning to discard Christianity, it is worth while to under- 
stand clearly why it was originally accepted. It was ac- 
cepted in order to escape at last from the brutality of 
antiquity. As soon as we discard it, licentiousness re- 
turns, as impressively exemplified by life in our large 
modern cities. This step is not a forward step, but a 
backward one. It is as with individuals who have laid 
aside one form of transference and have no new one. 
Without fail they will occupy regressively the old path 
of transference, to their great detriment, because the 
world around them has since then essentially changed. 
He who is repelled by the historical and philosophical 
weakness of the Christian dogmatism and the religious 


emptiness of an historical Jesus, of whose person we know 
nothing and whose religious value is partly Talmudic, 
partly Hellenic wisdom, and discards Christianity, and 
therewith Christian morality, is certainly confronted with 
the ancient problem of licentiousness. Today the indi- 
vidual still feels himself restrained by the public hypo- 
critical opinion, and, therefore, prefers to lead a secret, 
separate life, but publicly to represent morality. It 
might be different if men in general all at once found the 
moral mask too dull, and if they realized how danger- 
ously their beasts lie in wait for each other, and then 
truly a frenzy of demoralization might sweep over hu- 
manity. This is the dream, the wish dream, of the 
morally limited man of today; he forgets necessity, which 
strangles men and robs them of their breath, and which 
with a stern hand interrupts every passion. 

It must not be imputed to me that I am wishing to 
refer the libido back by analytical reduction to the primi- 
tive, almost conquered, stages, entirely forgetting the fear- 
ful misery this would entail for humanity. Indeed, some 
individuals would let themselves be transported by the 
old-time frenzy of sexuality, from which the burden of 
guilt has been removed, to their own greatest detriment. 

But these are the ones who under other circumstances 
would have prematurely perished in some other way. 
However, I well know the most effectual and most inex- 
orable regulator of human sexuality. This is necessity. 
With this leaden weight human lust will never fly too 

To-day there are countless neurotics who are so simply 


because they do not know how to seek happiness in their 
own manner. They do not even realize where the lack 
lies. And besides these neurotics there are many more 
normal people and precisely people of the higher type 
who feel restricted and discontented. For all these re- 
duction to the sexual elements should be undertaken, in 
order that they may be reinstated into the possession of 
their primitive self, and thereby learn to know and value 
its relation to the entire personality. In this way alone 
can certain requirements be fulfilled and others be re- 
pudiated as unfit because of their infantile character. In 
this way the individual will come to realize that certain 
things are to be sacrificed, although they are accom- 
plished, but in another sphere. We imagine that we have 
long renounced, sacrificed and cut off our incest wish, 
and that nothing of it is left. But it does not occur to us 
that this is not true, but that we unconsciously commit 
incest in another territory. In religious symbols, for 
example, we come across incest. 39 We consider the in- 
cestuous wish vanished and lost, and then rediscover it 
in full force in religion. This process or transformation 
has taken place unconsciously in secular development. 
Just as in Part I it is shown that a similar unconscious 
transformation of the libido is an ethically worthless pose, 
and with which I compared the Christianity of early 
Roman antiquity, where evidently licentiousness and bru- 
tality were strongly resisted, so here I must remark in 
regard to the sublimation of the incestuous libido, that 
the belief in the religious symbol has ceased to be an 
ethical ideal: but it is an unconscious transformation of 


the incest wish into symbolic acts and symbolic concepts 
which cheat men, as it were, so that heaven appears to 
them as a father and earth as a mother and the people 
upon it children and brothers and sisters. Thus man can 
remain a child for all time and satisfy his incest wish all 
unawares. This state would doubtless be ideal 40 if it were 
not infantile and, there fore, merely a one-sided wish, which 
maintains a childish attitude. The reverse is anxiety. 
Much is said of pious people who remain unshaken in 
their trust in God and wander unswervingly safe and 
blessed through the world. I have never seen this Chid- 
her yet. It is probably a wish figure. The rule is great 
uncertainty among believers, which they drown with 
fanatical cries among themselves or among others ; more- 
over, they have religious doubts, moral uncertainty, 
doubts of their own personality, feelings of guilt and, 
deepest of all, great fear of the opposite aspect of reality, 
against which the most highly intelligent people struggle 
with all their force. This other side is the devil, the 
adversary or, expressed in modern terms, the corrective 
of reality, of the infantile world picture, which has been 
made acceptable through the predominating pleasure 
principle. 41 But the world is not a garden of God, of 
the Father, but a place of terrors. Not only is heaven 
no father and earth no mother and the people not 
brothers nor sisters, but they represent hostile, destroy- 
ing powers, to which we are abandoned the more surely, 
the more childishly and thoughtlessly we have entrusted 
ourselves to the so-called Fatherly hand of God. One 
should never forget the harsh speech of the first Na- 


poleon, that the good God is always on the side of the 
heaviest artillery. 

The religious myth meets us here as one of the greatest 
and most significant human institutions which, despite 
misleading symbols, nevertheless gives man assurance and 
strength, so that he may not be overwhelmed by the 
monsters of the universe. The symbol, considered from 
the standpoint of actual truth, is misleading, indeed, but 
it is psychologically true* 2 because it was and is the bridge 
to all the greatest achievements of humanity. 

But this does not mean to say that this unconscious 
way of transformation of the incest wish into religious 
exercises is the only one or the only possible one. There 
is also a conscious recognition and understanding with 
which we can take possession of this libido which is 
bound up in incest and transformed into religious exer- 
cises so that we no longer need the stage of religious 
symbolism for this end. It is thinkable that instead of 
doing good to our fellow-men, for " the love of Christ," 
we do it from the knowledge that humanity, even as our- 
selves, could not exist if, among the herd, the one could 
not sacrifice himself for the other. This would be the 
course of moral autonomy, of perfect freedom, when man 
could without compulsion wish that which he must do, 
and this from knowledge, without delusion through be- 
lief in the religious symbols. 

It is a positive creed which keeps us infantile and, 
therefore, ethically inferior. Although of the greatest 
significance from the cultural point of view and of im- 
perishable beauty from the aesthetic standpoint, this 


delusion can no longer ethically suffice humanity striving 
after moral autonomy. 

The infantile and moral danger lies in belief in the 
symbol because through that we guide the libido to an 
imaginary reality. The simple negation of the symbol 
changes nothing, for the entire mental disposition re- 
mains the same ; we merely remove the dangerous object. 
But the object is not dangerous; the danger is our own 
infantile mental state, for love of which we have lost 
something very beautiful and ingenious through the 
simple abandonment of the religious symbol. I think 
belief should be replaced by understanding; then we 
would keep the beauty of the symbol, but still remain 
free from the depressing results of submission to belief. 
This would be the psychoanalytic cure for belief and dis- 

The vision following upon that of the city is that of a 
" strange fir tree with gnarled branches." This vision 
does not seem extraordinary to us after all that we have 
learned of the tree of life and its associations with the 
city and the waters of life. This especial tree seems 
simply to continue the category of the mother symbols. 
The attribute " strange " probably signifies, as in dreams, 
a special emphasis, that is, a special underlying complex 
material. Unfortunately, the author gives us no indi- 
vidual material for this. As the tree already suggested 
in the symbolism of the city is particularly emphasized 
through the further development of Miss Miller's visions 


here, I find it necessary to discuss at some length the his- 
tory of the symbolism of the tree. 

It is well known that trees have played a large part in 
the cult myth from the remotest times. The typical myth 
tree is the tree of paradise or of life which we discover 
abundantly used in Babylonian and also in Jewish lore; 
and in prechristian times, the pine tree of Attis, the tree 
or trees of Mithra; in Germanic mythology, Ygdrasil 
and so on. The hanging of the Attis image on the pine 
tree; the hanging of Marsyas, which became a celebrated 
artistic motive ; the hanging of Odin ; the Germanic hang- 
ing sacrifices indeed, the whole series of hanged gods 
teaches us that the hanging of Christ on the cross is not 
a unique occurrence in religious mythology, but belongs 
to the same circle of ideas as others. In this world of 
imagery the cross of Christ is the tree of life, and equally 
the wood of death. This contrast is not astounding. 
Just as the origin of man from trees was a legendary idea, 
so there were also burial customs, in which people were 
buried in hollow trees. From that the German language 
retains even now the expression " Totenbaum " (tree of 
death) for a coffin. Keeping in mind the fact that the 
tree is predominantly a mother symbol, then the mystic 
significance of this manner of burial can be in no way 
incomprehensible to us. The dead are delivered back to 
the mother for rebirth. We encounter this symbol in 
the Osiris myth, handed down by Plutarch, 43 which is, in 
general, typical in various aspects. Rhea is pregnant with 
Osiris; at the same time also with Isis; Osiris and Isis 
mate even in the mother's womb (motive of the night 


journey on the sea with incest). Their son is Arueris, 
later called Horus. It is said of Isis that she was born 
"in absolute humidity" (rsraprr^ 6s rfjv "laiv ev navv- 
ypoi? yevssdai *). It is said of Osiris that a certain Pa- 
myles in Thebes heard a voice from the temple of Zeus 
while drawing water, which commanded him to proclaim 
that Osiris was born }iyas fiaffiXevz evspysnj? "OGipis.\ 
In honor of this the Pamylion were celebrated. They 
were similar to the phallophorion. Pamyles is a phallic 
'demon, similar to the original Dionysus. The myth re- 
duced reads: Osiris and Isis were generated by phallus 
from the water (mother womb) in the ordinary manner. 
(Kronos had made Rhea pregnant, the relation was 
secret, and Rhea was his sister. Helios, however, ob- 
served it and cursed the relation.) Osiris was killed in 
a crafty manner by the god of the underworld, Typhon, 
who locked him in a chest. He was thrown into the Nile, 
and so carried out to sea. Osiris, however, mated in the 
underworld with his second sister, Nephthys (motive of 
the night journey to the sea with incest). One sees here 
how the symbolism is developed. In the mother womb, 
before the outward existence, Osiris commits incest; in 
death, the second intrauterine existence, Osiris again com- 
mits incest. Both times with a sister who is simply sub- 
stituted for the mother as a legal, uncensured symbol, 
since the marriage with a sister in early antiquity was not 
merely tolerated, but was really commended. Zara- 
thustra also recommended the marriage of kindred. This 

* In the fourth place Isis was born in absolute humidity, 
t The great beneficent king, Osiris. 


form of myth would be impossible to-day, because co- 
habitation with the sister, being incestuous, would be 
repressed. The wicked Typhon entices Osiris craftily 
into a box or chest; this distortion of the true state of 
affairs is transparent. The u original sin " caused men to 
wish to go back into the mother again, that is, the in- 
cestuous desire for the mother, condemned by law, is the 
ruse supposedly invented by Typhon. The fact is, the 
ruse is very significant. Man tries to sneak into rebirth 
through subterfuge in order to become a child again. 
An early Egyptian hymn 44 even raises an accusation 
against the mother Isis because she destroys the sun-god 
Re by treachery. It was interpreted as the ill-will of the 
mother towards her son that she banished and betrayed 
him. The hymn describes how Isis fashioned a snake, 
put it in the path of Re, and how the snake wounded the 
sun-god with a poisonous bite, from which wound he 
never recovered, so that finally he had to retire on the 
back of the heavenly cow. But this cow is the cow- 
headed goddess, just as Osiris is the bull Apis. The 
mother is accused as if she were the cause of man flying 
to the mother in order to be cured of the wound which 
she had herself inflicted. This wound is the prohibition 
of incest. 45 Man is thus cut off from the hopeful cer- 
tainty of childhood and early youth, from all the uncon- 
scious, instinctive happenings which permit the child to 
live as an appendage of his parents, unconscious of him- 
self. There must be contained in this many sensitive 
memories of the animal age, where there was not any 
" thou shalt " and " thou shalt not," but all was just 


simple occurrence. Even yet a deep animosity seems to 
live in man because a brutal law has separated him from 
the instinctive yielding to his desires and from the great 
beauty of the harmony of the animal nature. This sepa- 
ration manifested itself, among other things, in the incest 
prohibition and its correlates (laws of marriage, etc.) ; 
therefore pain and anger relate to the mother, as if she 
were responsible for the domestication of the sons of 
men. In order not to become conscious of his incest wish 
(his backward harking to the animal nature), the son 
throws all the burden of the guilt on the mother, from 
which arises the idea of the " terrible mother." 46 The 
mother becomes for him a spectre of anxiety, a night- 
mare. 47 

After the completed " night journey to the sea, 1 ' the 
chest of Osiris was cast ashore by Byblos, and lay in the 
branches of an Erica, which grew around the coffin and 
became a splendid tree. The king of the land had the 
tree placed as a column under his roof. 48 During this 
period of Osiris's absence (the winter solstice) the lament 
customary during thousands of years for the dead god 
and his return occurs, and its evpecri? is a feast of joy. 
A passage from the mournful quest of Isis is especially 
noteworthy : 

" She flutters like a swallow lamenting around the column, 
which encloses the god sleeping in death." 

(This same motive returns in the Kyffhauser saga.) 
Later on Typhon dismembers the corpse and scatters 
the pieces. We come upon the motive of dismember- 


ment in countless sun myths, 49 namely, the inversion of 
the idea of the composition of the child in the mother's 
womb. 50 In fact, the mother Isis collects the pieces of 
the body with the help of the jackal-headed Anubis. (She 
finds the corpse with the help of dogs.) Here the noc- 
turnal devourers of bodies, the dogs and jackals, become 
the assistants of the composition, of the reproduction." 
The Egyptian vulture owes its symbolic meaning as 
mother to this necrophagic habit. In Persian antiquity the 
corpses were thrown out for the dogs to devour, just as 
to-day in the Indian funeral pyres the removal of the 
carcasses is left to the vultures. Persia was familiar with 
the custom of leading a dog to the bed of one dying, 
whereupon the latter had to present the dog with a mor- 
sel. 52 The custom, on its surface, evidently signifies that 
the morsel is to belong to the dog, so that he will spare 
the body of the dead, precisely as Cerberus was soothed 
by the honey-cakes which Hercules gave to him in the 
journey to hell. But when we bear in mind the jackal- 
headed Anubis who rendered his good services in the 
gathering together of the dismembered Osiris, and the 
mother significance of the vulture, then the question arises 
whether something deeper was not meant by this cere- 
mony. Creuzer has also concerned himself with this idea, 
and has come to the conclusion that the astral form of 
the dog ceremony, that is, the appearance of Sirius, the 
dog star, at the period of the sun's highest position, is 
related to this in that the introduction of the dog has a 
compensatory significance, death being thereby made, re- 



versedly, equal to the sun's highest position. This is 
quite in conformity with psychologic thought, which re- 
sults from the very general fact that death is interpreted 
as entrance into the mother's womb (rebirth). This in- 
terpretation would seem to be supported by the other- 
wise enigmatic function of the dog in the Sacrificium 
Mithriacum. In the monuments a dog always leaps up 
upon the bull killed by Mithra. However, this sacrifice 
is probably to be interpreted through the Persian legend, 
as well as through the monument, as the moment of the 
highest fecundity. The most beautiful expression of this 
is seen upon the magnificent Mithra relief of Heddern- 
heim. Upon one side of a large stone slab (formerly 
probably rotating) is seen the stereotyped overthrowing 
and sacrifice of the bull, but upon the other side stands 
Sol, with a bunch of grapes in his hand, Mithra with 
the cornucopia, the Dadophores with fruits, correspond- 
ing to the legend that all fecundity proceeds from the 
dead bull of the world, fruits from the horns, wine from 
its blood, grain from the tail, cattle from its sperma, leek 
from its nose, and so on. Silvanus stands above this 
scene with the animals of the forest arising from him. 
The significance suspected by Creuzer might very easily 
belong to the dog in this connection. 53 Let us now turn 
back to the myth of Osiris. In spite of the restoration of 
the corpse accomplished by Isis, the resuscitation succeeds 
only incompletely in so far as the phallus of Osiris cannot 
again be produced, because it was eaten by the fishes; 
the power of life was wanting. 54 Osiris as a phantom 
once more impregnated Isis, but the fruit is Harpocrates, 


who was feeble in TOIZ Haroodsv yviois (in the lower 
limbs), that is, corresponding to the significance of 
yvlov (at the feet). (Here, as is plainly evident, foot 
is used in the phallic meaning.) This incurability of the 
setting -sun corresponds to the incurability of Re in the 
above-mentioned older Egyptian sun hymn. Osiris, al- 
though only a phantom, now prepares the young sun, his 
son Horus, for a battle with Typhon, the evil spirit of 
darkness. Osiris and Horus correspond to the father- 
son symbolism mentioned in the beginning, which sym- 
bolic figure, corresponding again to the above formula- 
tion, 55 is flanked by the well-formed and ugly figures of 
Horus and Harpocrates, the latter appearing mostly as a 
cripple, often represented distorted to a mere caricature. 58 
He is confused in the tradition very much with Horus, 
with whom he also has the name in common. Hor-pi- 
chrud, as his real name 57 reads, is composed from chrud, 
" child," and Hor, from the adjective hri up, on top, 
and signifies the up-coming child, as the rising sun, and 
opposed to Osiris, who personifies the setting sun the 
sun of the west. Thus Osiris and Horpichrud or Horus 
are one being, both husband and son of .the same mother, 
Hathor-Isis. The Chnum-Ra, the sun god of lower 
Egypt, represented as a ram, has at his side, as the female 
divinity of the land, Hatmehit, who wears the fish on her 
head. She is the mother and wife of Bi-neb-did (Ram, 
local name of Chnum-Ra). In the hymn of Hibis, 58 
Amon-ra was invoked: 

"Thy (Chum-Ram) dwells in Mendes, united as the quad- 
ruple god Thmuis. He is the phallus, the lord of the gods. The 


bull of his mother rejoices in the cow (ahet, the mother) and 
man fructifies through his semen." 

In further inscriptions Hatmehit was directly referred 
to as the " mother of Mendes." (Mendes is the Greek 
form of Bi-neb-did: ram.) She is also invoked as the 
" Good," with the additional significance of ta-nofert, or 
" young woman." The cow as symbol of the mother is 
found in all possible forms and variations of Hathor- 
Isis, and also in the female Nun (parallel to this is the 
primitive goddess Nit or Neith), the protoplasm which, 
related to the Hindoo Atman, 59 is equally of masculine 
and feminine nature. Nun is, therefore, invoked as 
Amon, 60 the original water, 61 which is in the beginning. 
He is also designated as the father of fathers, the mother 
of mothers. To this corresponds the invocation to the 
female side of Nun-Amon, of Nit or Neith. 

" Nit, the ancient, the mother of god, the mistress of Esne, 
the father of fathers, the mother of mothers, who is the beetle 
and the vulture, the being in its beginning. 

" Nit, the ancient, the mother who bore the light god, Ra, 
who bore first of all, when there was nothing which brought forth. 

" The cow, the ancient, which bore the sun, and then laid the 
germ of gods and men." 

The word " nun " has the significance of young, fresh, 
new, also the on-coming waters of the Nile flood. In a 
transferred sense " nun " was also used for the chaotic 
primitive waters; in general for the primitive generating 
matter 62 which was personified by the goddess Nunet. 
From her Nut sprang, the goddess of heaven, who was 


represented with a starry body, and also as the heavenly 
cow with a starry body. 

When the sun-god, little by little, retires on the back 
of the heavenly cow, just as poor Lazarus returns into 
Abraham's bosom, each has the same significance; they 
return into the mother, in order to rise as Horus. Thus 
it can be said that in the morning the goddess is the 
mother, at noon the sister-wife and in the evening again 
the mother, who receives the dying in her lap, reminding 
us of the Fieri of Michelangelo. As shown by the illus- 
tration (from Dideron's " Iconographie Chretienne "), 
this thought has been transferred as a whole into Chris- 

Thus the fate of Osiris is explained: he passes into 
the mother's womb, the chest, the sea, the tree, the 
column of Astartes; he is dismembered, re-formed, and 
reappears again in his son, Hor-pi-chrud. 

Before entering upon the further mysteries which the 
beautiful myth reveals to us, there is still much to be said 
about the symbol of the tree. Osiris lies in the branches 
of the tree, surrounded by them, as in the mother's womb. 
The motive of embracing and entwining is often found 
in the sun myths, meaning that it is the myth of rebirth. 
A good example is the Sleeping Beauty, also the legend 
of the girl who is enclosed between the bark and the 
trunk, but who is freed by a youth with his horn. 63 The 
horn is of gold and silver, which hints at the sunbeam in 
the phallic meaning. (Compare the previous legend of 
the horn.) An exotic legend tells of the sun-hero, how he 
must be freed from the plant entwining around him. 64 


A girl dreams of her lover who has fallen into the water; 
she tries to save him, but first has to pull seaweed and 
sea-grass from the water; then she catches him. In an 
African myth the hero, after his act, must first be disen- 
tangled from the seaweed. In a Polynesian myth the 
hero's ship was encoiled by the tentacles of a gigantic 
polyp. Re's ship is encoiled by a night serpent on its 
night journey on the sea. In the poetic rendering of the 
history of Buddha's birth by Sir Edwin Arnold ("The 
Light of Asia," p. 5) the motive of an embrace is also 
found : 

" Queen Maya stood at noon, her days fulfilled, 
Under a Palso in the palace grounds, 
A stately trunk, straight as a temple shaft, 
With crown of glossy leaves and fragrant blooms; 
And knowing the time come for all things knew 
The conscious tree bent down its boughs to make 
A bower about Queen Maya's majesty: 
And earth put forth a thousand sudden flowers 
To spread a couch: while ready for the bath 
The rock hard by gave out a limpid stream 
Of crystal flow. So brought she forth the child." 65 

We come across a very similar motive in the cult legend 
of the Samian Hera. Yearly it was claimed that the 
image disappeared from the temple, was fastened some- 
where on the seashore on a trunk of a Lygos tree and 
wound about with its branches. There it was u found," 
and was treated with wedding-cake. This feast is un- 
doubtedly a iepo? ydfjios (ritual marriage), because in 
Samos there was a legend that Zeus had first had a long- 
continued secret love relation with Hera. In Plataea 


and Argos, the marriage procession was represented with 
bridesmaids, marriage feast, and so on. The festival took 
place in the wedding month " raprfhiGov" (beginning of 
February). But in Plataea the image was previously 
carried into a lonely place in the wood; approximately 
corresponding to the legend of Plutarch that Zeus had 
kidnapped Hera and then had hidden her in a cave of 
Cithaeron. According to our deductions, previously 
made, we must conclude from this that there is still an- 
other train of thought, namely, the magic charm of 
rejuvenation, which is condensed in the Hierosgamos. 
The disappearance and hiding in the wood, in the cave, 
on the seashore, entwined in a willow tree, points to the 
death of the sun and rebirth. The early springtime 
Fa}Mi\iGov (the time of Marriage) in February fits in 
with that very well. In fact, Pausanias informs us that 
the Argivan Hera became a maiden again by a yearly 
bath in the spring of Canathos. The significance of the 
bath is emphasized by the information that in the 
Plataeian cult of Hera Teleia, Tritonian nymphs appeared 
as water-carriers. In a tale from the Iliad, where the 
conjugal couch of Zeus upon Mount Ida is described, it is 
said: 66 

" The son of Saturn spake, and took his wife 
Into his arms, while underneath the pair, 
The sacred Earth threw up her freshest herbs: 
The dewy lotos, and the crocus-flower, 
And thick and soft the hyacinth. All these 
Upbore them from the ground. Upon this couch 
They lay, while o'er them a bright golden cloud 
Gathered and shed its drops of glistening dew. 


So slumbered on the heights of Gargarus 
The All-Father overcome by sleep and love, 
And held his consort in his arms." 

Trans, by W. C. Bryant. 

Drexler recognizes in this description an unmistakable 
allusion to the garden of the gods on the extreme western 
shore of the ocean, an idea which might have been taken 
from a Prehomeric Hierosgamos hymn. This western 
land is the land of the setting sun, whither Hercules, 
Gilgamesh, etc., hasten with the sun, in order to find 
there immortality, where the sun and the maternal sea 
unite in an eternally rejuvenating intercourse. Our sup- 
position of a condensation of the Hierosgamos with the 
myth of rebirth is probably confirmed by this. Pausanias 
mentions a related myth fragment where the statue of 
Artemis Orthia is also called Lygodesma (chained with 
willows), because it was found in a willow tree; this tale 
seems to be related to the general Greek celebration of 
Hierosgamos with the above-mentioned customs. 67 

The motive of the u devouring " which Frobenius has 
shown to be a regular constituent of the sun myths is 
closely related to this (also metaphorically). The 
"whale dragon' 1 (mother's womb) always "devours" 
the hero. The devouring may also be partial instead of 

A six-year-old girl, who goes to school unwillingly, 
dreams that her leg is encircled by a large red worm. 
She had a tender interest for this creature, contrary to 
what might be expected. An adult patient, who cannot 
separate from an older friend on account of an extraordi- 


narily strong mother transference, dreams that " she had 
to get across some deep water (typical idea!) with this 
friend; her friend fell in (mother transference) ; she 
tries to drag her out, and almost succeeds, but a large 
crab seizes on the dreamer by the foot and tries to pull 
her in." 

Etymology also confirms this conception : There is an 
Indo-Germanic root velu-, vet-, with the meaning of u en- 
circling, surrounding, turning." From this is derived 
Sanskrit val, valati = to cover, to surround, to encircle, 
to encoil (symbol of the snake) ; valli = creeping plant; 
uluta = boa-constrictor = Latin voliitus, Lithuanian velu, 
velti = wickeln (to roll up); Church Slavonian vlina 
Old High German, wella = Welle (wave or billow) . To 
the root velu also belongs the root vivo, with the mean- 
ing " cover, corium, womb." (The serpent on account of 
its casting its skin is an excellent symbol of rebirth.) 
Sanskrit ulva, ulba has the same meaning; Latin volva, 
volvula, vulva. To velu also belongs the root ulvord, 
with the meaning of " fruitful field, covering or husk 
of plants, sheath." Sanskrit urvdrd = sown field. Zend 
urvara = plant. (See the personification of the ploughed 
furrow.) The same root vel has also the meaning of 
" wallen " (to undulate) . Sanskrit ulmuka conflagra- 
tion. Fa\ea, Fs.\oL) Gothic vulan = wallen (to undulate). 
Old High German and Middle High German walm = 
heat, glow. 68 It is typical that in the state of " involu- 
tion " the hair of the sun-hero always falls out from the 
heat. Further the root vel is found with the meaning 
41 to sound, 69 and to will, to wish " (libido!). 


The motive of encoiling is mother symbolism. 70 This 
is verified by the fact that the trees, for example, bring 
forth again (like the whale in the legend of Jonah). 
They do that very generally, thus in the Greek legend 
the Mshiai vvjjupai* of the ash trees are the mothers of 
the race of men of the Iron Age. In northern mythology, 
Askr, the ash tree, is the primitive father. His wife, 
Embla, is the " Emsige," the active one, and not, as was 
earlier believed, the aspen. Askr probably means, in the 
first place, the phallic spear of the ash tree. (Compare 
the Sabine custom of parting the bride's hair with the 
lance.) The Bundehesh symbolizes the first people, 
Meschia and Meschiane, as the tree Reivas, one part of 
which places a branch in a hole of the other part. The 
material which, according to the northern myth, was ani- 
mated by the god when he created men 71 is designated 
as ire = wood, tree. 72 I recall also v\rj = wood, which in 
Latin is called materia. In the wood of the " world-ash," 
Ygdrasil, a human pair hid themselves at the end of the 
world, from whom sprang the race of the renewed 
world. 73 The Noah motive is easily recognized in this 
conception (the night journey on the sea) ; at the same 
time, in the symbol of Ygdrasil, a mother idea is again 
apparent. At the moment of the destruction of the world 
the " world-ash " becomes the guardian mother, the tree 
of death and life, one te fyxolmorf 9 1 74 This function of 
rebirth of the " world-ash " also helps to elucidate the 
representation met with in the Egyptian Book of the 

*Mdian Virgins. t Pregnant. 


Dead, which is called u the gate of knowledge of the 
soul of the East " : 

" I am the pilot in the holy keel, I am the steersman who allows 
no rest in the ship of Ra. 76 I know that tree of emerald green 
from whose midst Ra rises to the height of the clouds." 76 

Ship and tree of the dead (death ship and death tree) 
are here closely connected. The conception is that Ra, 
born from the tree, ascends (Osiris in the Erika). The 
representation of the sun-god Mithra is probably ex- 
plained in the same way. He is represented upon the 
Heddernheim relief, with half his body arising from the 
top of a tree. (In the same way numerous other monu- 
ments show Mithra half embodied in the rock, and illus- 
trate a rock birth, similar to Men.) Frequently there is 
a stream near the birthplace of Mithra. This con- 
glomeration of symbols is also found in the birth of 
Aschanes, the first Saxon king, who grew from the Harz 
rocks, which are in the midst of the wood 77 near a foun- 
tain. 78 Here we find all the mother symbols united 
earth, wood, water, three forms of tangible matter. We 
can wonder no longer that in the Middle Ages the tree 
was poetically addressed with the title of honor, " mis- 
tress." Likewise it is not astonishing that the Christian 
legend transformed the tree of death, the cross, into 
the tree of life, so that Christ was often represented on 
a living and fruit-bearing tree. This reversion of the 
cross symbol to the tree of life, which even in Babylon 
was an important and authentic religious symbol, is also 
considered entirely probable by Zockler, 79 an authority 



on the history of the cross. The pre-Christian meaning 
of the symbol does not contradict this interpretation; on 
the contrary, its meaning is life. The appearance of the 
cross in the sun worship (here the cross with equal arms, 
and the swastika cross, as representative of the sun's 
rays), as well as in the cult of the goddess of love (Isis 
with the crux ansata, the rope, the speculum veneris 9 , 
etc. ) , in no way contradicts the previous historical mean- 
ing. The Christian legend has made abundant use of this 

The student of mediaeval history is familiar with the 
representation of the cross growing above the grave of 
Adam. The legend was that Adam was buried on Gol- 
gotha. Seth had planted on his grave a branch of the 
" paradise tree," which became the cross and tree of 
death of Christ. 80 We all know that through Adam's 
guilt sin and death came into the world, and Christ 
through his death has redeemed us from the guilt. To 
the question in what had Adam's guilt consisted it is said 
that the unpardonable sin to be expiated by death was 
that he dared to pick a fruit from the paradise tree. 81 
The results of this are described in an Oriental legend. 
One to whom it was permitted to cast one look into 
Paradise after the fall saw the tree there and the four 
streams. But the tree was withered, and in its branches 
lay an infant. (The mother had become pregnant. 82 ) 

This remarkable legend corresponds to the Talmudic 
tradition that Adam, before Eve, already possessed a 
demon wife, by name Lilith, with whom he quarrelled for 
mastership. But Lilith raised herself into the air through 


the magic of the name of God and hid herself in the sea. 
Adam forced her back with the help of three angels. 83 
Lilith became a nightmare, a Lamia, who threatened those 
with child and who kidnapped the newborn child. The 
parallel myth is that of the Lamias, the spectres of the 
night, who terrified the children. The original legend is 
that Lamia enticed Zeus, but the jealous Hera, however, 
caused Lamia to bring only dead children into the world. 
Since that time the raging Lamia is the persecutor of 
children, whom she destroys wherever she can. This 
motive frequently recurs in fairy tales, where the mother 
often appears directly as a murderess or as a devourer 
of men; 84 a German paradigm is the well-known tale of 
Hansel and Gretel. Lamia is actually a large, voracious 
fish, which establishes the connection with the whale- 
dragon myth so beautifully worked out by Frobenius, in 
which the sea monster devours the sun-hero for rebirth 
and where the hero must employ every stratagem to con- 
quer the monster. Here again we meet with the idea of 
the " terrible mother " in the form of the voracious fish, 
the mouth of death. 85 In Frobenius there are numerous 
examples where the monster has devoured not only men 
but also animals, plants, an entire country, all of which 
are redeemed by the hero to a glorious rebirth. 

The Lamias are typical nightmares, the feminine nature 
of which is abundantly proven. 86 Their universal pecu- 
liarity is that they ride upon their victims. Their coun- 
terparts are the spectral horses which bear their riders 
along in a mad gallop. One recognizes very easily in 
these symbolic forms the type of anxious dream which, 


as Riklin shows, 87 has already become important for the 
interpretation of fairy tales through the investigation of 
Laistner. 88 The typical riding takes on a special aspect 
through the results of the analytic investigation of in- 
fantile psychology; the two contributions of Freud and 
myself 89 have emphasized, on one side, the anxiety sig- 
nificance of the horse, on the other side the sexual mean- 
ing of the phantasy of riding. When we take these expe- 
riences into consideration, we need no longer be surprised 
that the maternal " world-ash " Ygdrasil is called in Ger- 
man " the frightful horse." Cannegieter 90 says of night- 
mares : 

" Abigunt eas nymphas (matres deas, mairas) hodie rustic! osse 
capitis equini tectis injecto, cujusmodi ossa per has terras in 
rusticorum villis crebra est animadvertere. Nocte autem ad con- 
cubia equitare creduntur et equos fatigare ad longinqua itinera." * 

The connection of nightmare and horse seems, at first 
glance, to be present also etymologically nightmare and 
mare. The Indo-Germanic root for mare is mark. 
Mare is the horse, English mare; Old High German 
mar ah (male horse) and meri'ha (female horse) ; Old 
Norse merr (mar a = nightmare) ; Anglo-Saxon my re 
(maira). The French " cauchmar " comes from calcare 
= to tread, to step (of iterative meaning, therefore, " to 
tread " or press down) . It was also said of the cock who 

* Even to-day the country people drive off these nymphs (mother god- 
desses, Maira) by throwing a bone of the head of a horse upon the roof 
bones of this kind can often be seen throughout the land on the farm- 
houses of the country people. By night, however, they are believed to ride 
at the time of the first sleep, and they are believed to tire out their horses 
by long journeys. 


stepped upon the hen. This movement is also typical for 
the nightmare; therefore, it is said of King Vanlandi, 
" Mara trad han," the Mara trod on him in sleep even to 
death. 91 A synonym for nightmare is the " troll " or 
" treter " 92 (treader). This movement (calcare] is 
proven again by the experience of Freud and myself with 
children, where a special infantile sexual significance is 
attached to stepping or kicking. 

The common Aryan root mar means " to die " ; there- 
fore, mara the " dead " or " death." From this results 
mors, jwo'pof = fate (also juofpa? 93 ). As is well known, 
the Nornes sitting under the " world-ash " personify fate 
like Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. With the Celts the 
conception of the Fates probably passes into that of 
malres and matrons, which had a divine significance 
among the Germans. A well-known passage in Julius 
Caesar (" De Bello Gallico," i: 50) informs us of this 
meaning of the mother : 

" Ut matres familias eorum sortibus et vaticinationibus 9 * decla- 
rarent, utrum prcelium committi ex usu esset, nee ne." * 

In Slav mara means " witch " ; poln. mora demon, 
nightmare; mor or more (Swiss-German) means " sow," 
also as an insult. The Bohemian mura means " night- 
mare " and " evening moth, Sphinx." This strange con- 
nection is explained through analysis where it often 
occurs that animals with movable shells (Venus shell) or 
wings are utilized for very transparent reasons as sym- 
bols of the female genitals. 95 The Sphingina are the twi- 

* That these matrons should declare by lots whether it would be to their 
advantage or not to engage in battle. 


light moths ; they, like the nightmare, come in the dark- 
ness. Finally, it is to be observed that the sacred olive 
tree of Athens is called " popia" (that was derived from 
juo'pos). Halirrhotios wished to cut down the tree, but 
killed himself with the axe in the attempt. 
The sound resemblance of mar, mere with meer = sea 
and Latin mare sea is remarkable, although etymologi- 
cally accidental. Might it refer back to " the great primi- 
tive idea of the mother " who, in the first place, meant to 
us our individual world and afterwards became the sym- 
bol of all worlds? Goethe said of the mothers: "They 
are encircled by images of all creatures." The Chris- 
tians, too, could not refrain from reuniting their mother 
of God with water. " Ave Maris Stella " is the begin- 
ning of a hymn to Mary. Then again it is the horses 
of Neptune which symbolize the waves of the sea. It is 
probably of importance that the infantile word ma-ma 
(mother's breast) is repeated in its initial sound in all 
possible languages, and that the mothers of two religious 
heroes are called Mary and Maya. That the mother is 
the horse of the child is to be seen most plainly in the 
primitive custom of carrying the child on the back or let- 
ting it ride on the hip. Odin hung on the " world- 
ash," the mother, his " horse of terror." The Egyptian 
sun-god sits on the back of his mother, the heavenly 

We have already seen that, according to Egyptian con- 
ceptions, Isis, the mother of god, played an evil trick on 
the sun-god with the poisonous snake; also Isis behaved 
treacherously toward her son Horus in Plutarch's tradi- 


tion. That is, Horus vanquished the evil Typhon, who 
murdered Osiris treacherously (terrible mother = Ty- 
phon). Isis, however, set him free again. Horus there- 
upon rebelled, laid hands on his mother and tore the regal 
ornaments from her head, whereupon Hermes gave her 
a cow's head. Then Horus conquered Typhon a second 
time. Typhon, in the Greek legend, is a monstrous 
dragon. Even without this confirmation it is evident that 
the battle of Horus is the typical battle of the sun-hero 
with the whale-dragon. Of the latter we know that it is 
a symbol of the " dreadful mother," of the voracious 
jaws of death, where men are dismembered and ground 
up. 96 Whoever vanquishes this monster has gained a new 
or eternal youth. For this purpose one must, in spite of 
all dangers, descend into the belly of the monster 97 (jour- 
ney to hell) and spend some time there. (Imprisonment 
by night in the sea. ) 

The battle with the night serpent signifies, therefore, 
the conquering of the mother, who is suspected of an in- 
famous crime, that is, the betrayal of the son. A full 
confirmation of the connection comes to us through the 
fragment of the Babylonian epic of the creation, discov- 
ered by George Smith, mostly from the library of Asur- 
banipal. The period of the origin of the text was prob- 
ably in the time of Hammurabi (2,000 B.C.). We 
learn from this account of creation 98 that the sun-god Ea, 
the son of the depths of the waters and the god of wis- 
dom, 99 had conquered Apsu. Apsu is the creator of the 
great gods (he existed in the beginning in a sort of trinity 
with Tiamat the mother of gods and Mumu, his vizier) . 


Ea conquered the father, but Tiamat plotted revenge. 
She prepared herself for battle against the gods. 

" Mother Hubur, who created everything, 
Procured invincible weapons, gave birth to giant snakes 
With pointed teeth, relentless in every way; 
Filled their bellies with poison instead of blood, 
Furious gigantic lizards, clothed them with horrors, 
Let them swell with the splendor of horror, formed them rearing, 
Whoever sees them shall die of terror. 
Their bodies shall rear without turning to escape. 
She arrayed the lizards, dragons and Lahamen, 
Hurricanes, mad dogs, scorpion men, 
Mighty storms, fishmen and rams. 
With relentless weapons, without fear of conflict, 
Powerful are Tiamat's commands, irresistible are they. 

" After Tiamat Wad powerfully done her work 
She conceived evil against the gods, her descendants; 
In order to revenge Apsu, Tiamat did evil. 
When Ea now heard this thing 

He became painfully anxious, sorrowfully he sat himself. 
He went to the father, his creator, Ansar, 
To relate to him all that Tiamat plotted. 
Tiamat, our mother, has taken an aversion to us, 
Has prepared a riotous mob, furiously raging." 

The gods finally opposed Marduk, the god of spring, 
the victorious sun, against the fearful host of Tiamat. 
Marduk prepared for battle. Of his chief weapon, which 
he created, it is said: 

" He created the evil wind, Imhullu, the south storm and the 

The fourth wind, the seventh wind, the whirlwind and the 

harmful wind, 

Then let he loose the winds, which he had created, the seven: 
To cause confusion within Tiamat, they followed behind him, 


Then the lord took up the cyclone, his great weapon ; 
For his chariot he mounted the stormwind, the incomparable, 
the terrible one." 

His chief weapon is the wind and a net, with which he 
will entangle Tiamat. He approaches Tiamat and chal- 
lenges her to a combat. 

" Then Tiamat and Marduk, the wise one of the gods, came to- 

Rising for the fight, approaching to the battle: 
Then the lord spread out his net and caught her. 
He let loose the Imhullu in his train at her face, 
Then Tiamat now opened her mouth as wide as she could. 
He let the Imhullu rush in so that her lips could not close; 
With the raging winds he filled her womb. 
Her inward parts were seized and she opened wide her mouth. 
He touched her with the spear, dismembered her body, 
He slashed her inward parts, and cut out her heart, 
Subdued her and put an end to her life. 
He threw down her body and stepped upon it.'* 

After Marduk slew the mother, he devised the crea- 
tion of the world. 

" There the lord rested contemplating her body, 
Then divided he the Colossus, planning wisely. 
He cut it apart like a flat fish, into two parts, 100 
One half he took and with it he covered the Heavens." 

In this manner Marduk created the universe from the 
mother. It is clearly evident that the killing of the 
mother-dragon here takes place under the idea of a wind 
fecundation with negative accompaniments. 

The world is created from the mother, that is to say, 
from the libido taken away from the mother through sac- 


rifice. We shall have to consider this significant formula 
more closely in the last chapter. The most interesting 
parallels to this primitive myth are to be found in the 
literature of the Old Testament, as Gunkel 101 has bril- 
liantly pointed out. It is worth while to trace the psy- 
chology of these parallels. 

Isaiah li : 9 : 

(9) "Awake, awake, put on strength, O arm of the Lord; 
awake as in the ancient days, in the generation of old. Art thou 
not it that hath cut Rahab, and wounded the dragon ? 

(10) " Art thou not it which hath dried the sea, the waters of 
the great deep, that hath made the depths of the sea a way for 
the ransomed to pass over?" 

The name of Rahab is frequently used for Egypt in 
the Old Testament, also dragon. Isaiah, chapter xxx, 
verse 7, calls Egypt " the silent Rahab," and means, 
therefore, something evil and hostile. Rahab is the well- 
known whore of Jericho, who later, as the wife of Prince 
Salma, became the ancestress of Christ. Here Rahab 
appeared as the old dragon, as Tiamat, against whose 
evil power Marduk, or Jehovah, marched forth. The 
expression " the ransomed " refers to the Jews freed 
from bondage, but it is also mythological, for the hero 
again frees those previously devoured by the whale. 

Psalm Ixxxix: 10: 

" Thou hast broken Rahab in pieces, as one that is slain." 

Job xxvi: 12-13: 

" He divideth the sea with his power, and by his understanding 
he smiteth through the proud. 


" By his spirit he hath garnished the heavens, his hand hath 
formed the crooked serpent." 

Gunkel places Rahab as identical with Chaos, that is, 
the same as Tiamat. Gunkel translates " the breaking to 
pieces " as " violation." Tiamat or Rahab as the mother 
is also the whore. Gilgamesh treats Ischtar in this way 
when he accuses her of whoredom. This insult towards 
the mother is very familiar to us from dream analysis. 
The dragon Rahab appears also as Leviathan, the water 
monster (maternal sea). 

Psalm Ixxiv: 

(13) " Thou didst divide the sea by thy strength: thou brakest 
the heads of the dragons in the waters. 

(14) "Thou brakest the heads of Leviathan in pieces and 
gavest him to be meat to the people inhabiting the wilderness. 

(15) "Thou didst cleave the fountain and the flood: thou 
didst dry up mighty rivers." 

While only the phallic meaning of the Leviathan was 
emphasized in the first part of this work, we now discover 
also the maternal meaning. A further parallel is: 

Isaiah xxvii : I : 

" In that day, the Lord with his cruel and great and strong 
sword shall punish Leviathan, the piercing serpent, even Leviathan 
that crooked serpent, and he shall slay the dragon that is in the 

We come upon a special motive in Job, chap, xli, v. i : 

" Canst thou draw out Leviathan with an hook? or his tongue 
with a cord which thou lettest down? Canst thou put an hook 
in his nose? or bore his jaw through with a thorn? " 


Numerous parallels to this motive are to be found 
among exotic myths in Frobenius, where the maternal sea 
monster was also fished for. The comparison of the 
mother libido with the elementary powers of the sea 
and the powerful monsters borne by the earth show how 
invincibly great is the power of that libido which we des- 
ignate as maternal. 

We have already seen that the incest prohibition pre- 
vents the son from reproducing himself through the 
mother. But this must be done by the god, as is shown 
with remarkable clearness and candor in the pious Egyp- 
tian mythology, which has preserved the most ancient and 
simple concepts. Thus Chnum, the " moulder," the 
" potter," the " architect," moulds his egg upon the pot- 
ter's wheel, for he is " the immortal growth," " the re- 
production of himself and his own rebirth, the creator of 
the egg, which emerged from the primitive waters." In 
the Book of the Dead it says : 

"I am the sublime falcon (the Sun-god), which has come 
forth from his egg." 

Another passage in the Book of the Dead reads : 

" I am the creator of Nun, who has taken his place in the 
underworld. My nest is not seen and my egg is not broken." 

A further passage reads : 

" that great and noble god in his egg: who is his own originator 
of that which has arisen from him." 102 

Therefore, the god Nagaga-uer is also called the 
" great cackler." (Book of the Dead.) " I cackle like 


a goose and I whistle like a falcon." The mother is re- 
proached with the incest prohibition as an act of wilful 
maliciousness by which she excludes the son from immor- 
tality. Therefore, a god must at least rebel, overpower 
and chastise the mother. (Compare Adam and Lilith, 
above.) The "overpowering" signifies incestuous 
rape. 103 Herodotus 104 has preserved for us a valuable 
fragment of this religious phantasy. 

" And how they celebrate their feast to Isis in the city of 
Busiris, I have already previously remarked. After the sacrifice, 
all of them, men and women, full ten thousand people, begin to 
beat each other. But it would be sin for me to mention for whom 
they do beat each other. 

" But in Papremis they celebrated the sacrifice with holy actions, 
as in the other places. About the time when the sun sets, some 
few priests are busy around the image; most of them stand at 
the entrance with wooden clubs, and others who would fulfil a 
vow, more than a thousand men, also stand in a group with 
wooden cudgels opposite them. 

" Now on the eve of the festival, they take the image out in 
a small and gilded temple into another sacred edifice. Then the 
few who remain with the image draw a four-wheeled chariot upon 
which the temple stands with the image which it encloses. But 
the others who stand in the anterooms are not allowed to enter. 
Those under a vow, who stand by the god, beat them off. Now 
occurs a furious battle with clubs, in which they bruise each other's 
bodies and as I believe, many even die from their wounds: not- 
withstanding this, the Egyptians consider that none die. 

" The natives claim that this festival gathering was introduced 
for the following reason: in this sanctuary lived the mother .of 
Ares. 105 Now Ares was brought up abroad and when he became 
a man he came to have intercourse with his mother. The servants 
of his mother who had seen him did not allow him to enter peace- 
fully, but prevented him; at which he fetched people from an- 
other city, who mistreated the servants and had entrance to his 


mother. Therefore, they asserted that this slaughter was intro- 
duced at the feast for Ares." 

It is evident that the pious here fight their way to a share 
in the mystery of the raping of the mother. 106 This is the 
part which belongs to them, 107 while the heroic deed be- 
longs to the god. 108 By Ares is meant the, Egyptian Typhon, 
as we have good reasons to suppose. Thus Typhon rep- 
resents the evil longing for the mother with which other 
myth forms reproach the mother, according to the well- 
known example. The death of Balder, quite analogous 
to the death of Osiris (attack of sickness of Re), because 
of the wounding by the branch of the mistletoe, seems to 
need a similar explanation. It is recounted in the myth 
how all creatures were pledged not to hurt Balder, save 
only the mistletoe, which was forgotten, presumably be- 
cause it was too young. This killed Balder. Mistletoe 
is a parasite. The female piece of wood in the fire-boring 
ritual was obtained 109 from the wood of a parasitical or 
creeping plant, the fire mother. The " mare " rests upon 
" Marentak," in which Grimm suspects the mistletoe. 
The mistletoe was a remedy against barrenness. In Gaul 
the Druid alone was allowed to climb the holy oak amid 
solemn ceremonies after the completed sacrifice, in order 
to cut off the ritual mistletoe. 110 This act is a religiously 
limited and organized incest. That which grows on the 
tree is the child, 111 which man might have by the mother; 
then man himself would be in a renewed and rejuvenated 
form; and precisely this is what man cannot have, because 
the incest prohibition forbids it. As the Celtic custom 
shows, the act is performed by the priest only, with the 


observation of certain ceremonies; the hero god and the 
redeemer of the world, however, do the unpermitted, the 
superhuman thing, and through it purchase immortality. 
The dragon, who must be overcome for this purpose, 
means, as must have been for some time clearly seen, the 
resistance against the incest. Dragon and serpent, espe- 
cially with the characteristic accumulation of anxiety at- 
tributes, are the symbolic representations of anxiety 
which correspond to the repressed incest wish. It is, 
therefore, intelligible, when we come across the tree with 
the snake again and again (in Paradise the snake even 
tempts to sin). The snake or dragon possesses in par- 
ticular the meaning of treasure guardian and defender. 
The phallic, as well as the feminine, meaning of the 
dragon 112 indicates that it is again a symbol of the sexual 
neutral (or bisexual) libido, that is to say, a symbol of the 
libido in opposition. In this significance the black horse, 
Apaosha, the demon of opposition, appears in the old 
Persian song, Tishtriya, where it obstructs the sources 
of the rain lake. The white horse Tishtriya makes two 
futile attempts to vanquish Apaosha ; at the third attempt, 
with the help of Ahuramazda, he is successful. 113 Where- 
upon the sluices of heaven open and a fruitful rain pours 
down upon the earth. 114 In this song one sees very beau- 
tifully in the choice of symbol how libido is opposed to 
libido, will against will, the discordance of primitive man 
with himself, which he recognizes again in all the ad- 
versity and contrasts of external nature. 

The symbol of the tree encoiled by the serpent may 
also be translated as the mother defended from incest 


by resistance. This symbol is by no means rare upon 
Mithraic monuments. The rock encircled by a snake is 
to be comprehended similarly, because Mithra is one 
born from a rock. The menace of the new-born by the 
snake (Mithra, Hercules) is made clear through the 
legend of Lilith and Lamia. Python, the dragon of Leto, 
and Poine, who devastates the land of Crotopus, are sent 
by the father of the new-born. This idea indicates the 
localization, well known in psychoanalysis, of the incest 
anxiety in the father. The father represents the active 
repulse of the incest wish of the son. The crime, un- 
consciously wished for by the son, is imputed to the father 
under the guise of a pretended murderous purpose, this 
being the cause of the mortal fear of the son for the 
father, a frequent neurotic symptom. In conformity with 
this idea, the monster to be overcome by the young hero 
is frequently a giant, the guardian of the treasure or the 
woman. A striking example is the giant Chumbaba in 
the Gilgamesh epic, who protected the garden of 
Ishtar; 115 he is overcome by Gilgamesh, whereby Ishtar 
is won. Thereupon she makes erotic advances towards 
Gilgamesh. 116 This data should be sufficient to render 
intelligible the role of Horus in Plutarch, especially the 
violent usage of Isis. Through overpowering the mother 
the hero becomes equal to the sun; he reproduces him- 
self. He wins the strength of the invincible sun, the 
power of eternal rejuvenation. We thus understand a 
series of representations from the Mithraic myth on the 
Heddernheim relief. There we see, first of all, the birth 
of Mithra from the top of the tree ; the next representa- 


tion shows him carrying the conquered bull (comparable 
to the monstrous bull overcome by Gilgamesh). This 
bull signifies the concentrated significance of the monster, 
the father, who as giant and dangerous animal embodies 
the incest prohibition, and agrees with the individual 
libido of the sun-hero, which he overcomes by self-sacri- 
fice. The third picture represents Mithra, when he 
grasps the head ornament of the sun, the nimbus. This 
act recalls to us, first of all, the violence of Horus towards 
Isis; secondly, the Christian basic thought, that those who 
have overcome attain the crown of eternal life. On the 
fourth picture Sol kneels before Mithra. These last two 
representations show plainly that Mithra has taken to 
himself the strength of the sun, so that he becomes the 
lord of the sun as well. He has conquered " his animal 
nature," the bull. The animal knows no incest prohibi- 
tion; man is, therefore, man because he conquers the 
incest wish, that is, the animal nature. Thus Mithra has 
sacrificed his animal nature, the incest wish, and with that 
has overcome the mother, that is to say, " the terrible 
death-bringing mother." A solution is already antici- 
pated in the Gilgamesh epic through the formal renuncia- 
tion of the horrible Ishtar by the hero. The overcoming 
of the mother in the Mithraic sacrifice, which had almost 
an ascetic character, took place no longer by the archaic 
overpowering, but through the renunciation, the sacrifice 
of the wish. The primitive thought of incestuous repro- 
duction through entrance into the mother's womb had 
already been displaced, because man was so far advanced 
in domestication that he believed that the eternal life of 



the sun is reached, not through the perpetration of incest, 
but through the sacrifice of the incest wish. This impor- 
tant change expressed in the Mithraic mystery finds its 
full expression for the first time in the symbol of the 
crucified God. A bleeding human sacrifice was hung on 
the tree of life for Adam's sins. 117 The first-born sacri- 
fices its life to the mother when he suffers, hanging on the 
branch, a disgraceful and painful death, a mode of death 
which belongs to the most ignominious forms of execution, 
which Roman antiquity had reserved for only the lowest 
criminal. Thus the hero dies, as if he had committed the 
most shameful crime; he does this by returning into the 
birth-giving branch of the tree of life, at the same time 
paying for his guilt with the pangs of death. The animal 
nature is repressed most powerfully in this deed of the 
highest courage and the greatest renunciation; therefore, 
a greater salvation is to be expected for humanity, be- 
cause such a deed alone seems appropriate to expiate 
Adam's guilt. 

As has already been mentioned, the hanging of the 
sacrifice on the tree is a generally widespread ritual cus- 
tom, Germanic examples being especially abundant. The 
ritual consists in the sacrifice being pierced by a spear. 118 
Thus it is said of Odin (Edda, Havamal) : 

" I know that I hung on the windswept tree 
Nine nights through, 
Wounded by a spear, dedicated to Odin 
I myself to myself." 

The hanging of the sacrifice to the cross also occurred 
in America prior to its discovery. Miiller 119 mentions the 


Fejervaryian manuscript (a Mexican hieroglyphic kodex), 
at the conclusion of which there is a colossal cross, in the 
middle of which there hangs a bleeding divinity. Equally 
interesting is the cross of Palenque ; 12 up above is a 
bird, on either side two human figures, who look at the 
cross and hold a child against it either for sacrifice or 
baptism. The old Mexicans are said to have invoked the 
favor of Centeotls, " the daughter of heaven and the 
goddess of wheat," every spring by nailing upon the cross 
a youth or a maiden and by shooting the sacrifice with 
arrows. 121 The name of the Mexican cross signifies 
11 tree of our life or flesh." 122 

An effigy from the Island of Philae represents Osiris 
in the form of a crucified god, wept over by Isis and 
Nephthys, the sister consort. 123 

The meaning of the cross is certainly not limited to 
the tree of life, as has already been shown. Just as the 
tree of life has also a phallic sub-meaning (as libido sym- 
bol), so there is a further significance to the cross than 
life and immortality. 124 Miiller uses it as a sign of rain 
and of fertility, because it appears among the Indians 
distinctly as a magic charm of fertility. It goes without 
saying, therefore, that it plays a role in the sun cult. It 
is also noteworthy that the sign of the cross is an impor- 
tant sign for the keeping away of all evil, like the ancient 
gesture of Manofica. The phallic amulets also serve the 
same purpose. Zockler appears to have overlooked the 
fact that the phallic Crux Ansata is the same cross which 
has flourished in countless examples in the soil of an- 
tiquity. Copies of this Crux Ansata are found in many 


places, and almost every collection of antiquities pos- 
sesses one or more specimens. 125 

Finally, it must be mentioned that the form of the 
human body is imitated in the cross as of a man with 
arms outspread. It is remarkable that in early Christian 
representations Christ is not nailed to the cross, but 
stands before it with arms outstretched. 126 Maurice 127 
gives a striking basis for this interpretation when he says : 

" It is a fact not less remarkable than well attested, that the 
Druids in their groves were accustomed to select the most stately 
and beautiful tree as an emblem of the deity they adored, and 
cutting off the side branches, they affixed two of the largest of 
them to the highest part of the trunk, in such a manner that those 
branches extended on each side like the arms of a man, and to- 
gether with the body presented the appearance of a huge cross; 
and in the bark in several places was also inscribed the letter T 
(tau)." 128 

" The tree of knowledge " of the Hindoo Dschaina 
sect assumes human form; it was represented as a mighty, 
thick trunk in the form of a human head, from the top 
of which grew out two longer branches hanging down at 
the sides and one short, vertical, uprising branch crowned 
by a bud or blossom-like thickening. 129 Robertson in 
his " Evangelical Myths " mentions that in the Assyrian 
system there exists the representation of the divinity in 
the form of a cross, in which the vertical beam corre- 
sponds to a human form and the horizontal beam to a 
pair of conventionalized wings. Old Grecian idols such, 
for example, as were found in large numbers in Aegina 
have a similar character, an immoderately long head and 


arms slightly raised, wing-shaped, and in front distinct 
breasts. 130 

I must leave it an open question as to whether the 
symbol of the cross has any relation to the two pieces 
of wood in the religious fire production, as is frequently 
claimed. It does appear, however, as if the cross symbol 
actually still possessed the significance of " union," for 
this idea belongs to the fertility charm, and especially to 
the thought of eternal rebirth, which is most intimately 
bound up with the cross. The thought of " union/' ex- 
pressed by the symbol of the cross, is met with in 
" Timaios " of Plato, where the world soul is conceived 
as stretched out between heaven and earth in the form 
of an X (Chi) ; hence in the form of a " St. Andrew's 
cross." When we now learn, furthermore, that the 
world soul contains in itself the world as a body, then this 
picture inevitably reminds us of the mother. 

(Dialogues of Plato. Jowett, Vol. II, page 528.) 
" And in the center he put the soul, which he diffused through 
the whole, and also spread over all the body round about, and 
he made one solitary and only heaven, a circle moving in a circle, 
having such excellence as to be able to hold converse with itself, 
and needing no other friendship or acquaintance. Having these 
purposes in view he created the world to be a blessed god." 

This highest degree of inactivity and freedom from 
desire, symbolized by the being enclosed within itself, sig- 
nifies divine blessedness. The only human prototype of 
this conception is the child in the mother's womb, or 
rather more, the adult man in the continuous embrace of 
the mother, from whom he originates. Corresponding to 


this mythologic-philosophic conception, the enviable Dio- 
genes inhabited a tub, thus giving mythologic expression 
to the blessedness and resemblance to the Divine in his 
freedom from desire. Plato says as follows of the bond 
of the world soul to the world body : 

" Now God did not make the soul after the body, although we 
have spoken of them in this order ; for when he put them together 
he would never have allowed that the elder should serve the 
younger, but this is what we say at random, because we ourselves 
too are very largely affected by chance. Whereas he made the 
soul in origin and excellence prior to and older than the body, 
to be the ruler and mistress, of whom the body was to be the 

It seems conceivable from other indications that the 
conception of the soul in general is a derivative of the 
mother-imago, that is to say, a symbolic designation for 
the amount of libido remaining in the mother-imago. 
(Compare the Christian representation of the soul as the 
bride of Christ.) The further development of the world 
soul in " Timaios " takes place in an obscure fashion in 
mystic numerals. When the mixture was completed the 
following occurred : 

" This entire compound he divided lengthways into two parts, 
which he joined to one another at the center like the figure of 
an X." 

This passage approaches very closely the division and 
union of Atman, who, after the division, is compared to 
a man and a woman who hold each other in an embrace. 
Another passage is worth mentioning: 


" After the entire union of the soul had taken place, according 
to the master's mind, he formed all that is corporeal within this, 
and joined it together so as to penetrate it throughout." 

Moreover, I refer to my remarks about the maternal 
meaning of the world soul in Plotinus, in Chapter II. 

A similar detachment of the symbol of the cross from a 
concrete figure we find among the Muskhogean Indians, 
who stretch above the surface of the water (pond or 
stream) two ropes crosswise and at the point of intersec- 
tion throw into the water fruits, oil and precious stones as 
a sacrifice. 131 Here the divinity is evidently the water, not 
the cross, which designates the place of sacrifice only, 
through the point of intersection. The sacrifice at the 
place of union indicates why this symbol was a primitive 
charm of fertility, 132 why we meet it so frequently in the 
prechristian era among the goddesses of love (mother 
goddesses), especially among the Egyptians in Isis and 
the sun-god. We have already discussed the continuous 
union of these two divinities. As the cross (Tau [T], 
Crux Ansata) always recurs in the hand of Turn, the 
supreme God, the hegemon of the Ennead, it may not be 
superfluous to say something more of the destination of 
Turn. The Turn of On-Heliopolis bears the name " the 
father of his mother " ; what that means needs no ex- 
planation; Jusas or Nebit-Hotpet, the goddess joined to 
him, was called sometimes the mother, sometimes the 
daughter, sometimes the wife of the god. The day of 
the beginning of autumn is designated in the Heliopolitan 
inscriptions as the " festival of the goddess Jusasit," as 
" the arrival of the sister for the purpose of uniting with 


her father." It is the day in which " the goddess Mehnit 
completes her work, so that the god Osiris may enter 
into the left eye." (By which the moon is meant. 133 ) 
The day is also called the filling up of the sacred eye 
with its needs. The heavenly cow with the moon eye, 
the cow-headed Isis, takes to herself in the autumn 
equinox the seed which procreates Horus. (Moon as 
keeper of the seed.) The "eye" evidently represents 
the genitals, as in the myth of Indra, who had to bear 
spread over his whole body the likeness of Yoni (vulva) , 
on account of a Bathsheba outrage, but was so far par- 
doned by the gods that the disgraceful likeness of Yoni 
was changed into eyes. 134 The " pupil " in the eye is a 
child. The great god becomes a child again; he enters 
the mother's womb in order to renew himself. 135 In a 
hymn it is said: 

" Thy mother, the heavens, stretches forth her arms to thee." 
In another place it is said : 

"Thou shinest, oh father of the gods, upon the back of thy 
mother, daily thy mother takes thee in her arms. When thou 
illuminatest the dwelling of night, thou unitest with thy mother, 
the heavens." 136 

The Turn of Pitum-Heliopolis not only bears the Crux 
Ansata as a symbol, but also has this sign as his most 
frequent surname, that is, an* or ani, which means 
" life " or " the living." He is chiefly honored as the 
demon serpent, Agatho, of whom it is said, " The holy 
demon serpent Agatho goes forth from the city Nezi." 
The snake, on account of casting its skin, is the symbol 


of renewal, as is the scarabseus, a symbol of the sun, of 
whom it is said that he, being of masculine sex only, re- 
produces himself. 

The name Chnum (another name for Turn, always 
meaning "the sun-god") comes from the verb jnum, 
which means " to bind together, to unite." m Chnum 
appears chiefly as the potter, the moulder of his egg. 
The cross seems, therefore, to be an extraordinarily con- 
densed symbol; its supreme meaning is that of the tree 
of life, and, therefore, is a symbol of the mother. The 
symbolization in a human form is, therefore, intelligible. 
The phallic forms of the Crux Ansata belong to the ab- 
stract meaning of " life " and " fertility," as well as to 
the meaning of " union," which we can now very properly 
interpret as cohabitation with the mother for the purpose 
of renewal. 138 It is, therefore, not only a very touching 
but also a very significant naive symbolism when Mary, 
in an Old English lament of the Virgin, 139 accuses the cross 
of being a false tree, which unjustly and without reason 
destroyed " the pure fruit of her body, her gentle bird- 
ling," with a poisonous draught, the draught of death, 
which is destined only for the guilty descendants of the 
sinner Adam. Her son was not a sharer in that guilt. 
(Compare with this the cunning of Isis with the fatal 
draught of love.) Mary laments : 

" Cross, thou art the evil stepmother of my son, so high hast 
thou hung him that I cannot even kiss his feet! Cross, thou art 
my mortal enemy, thou hast slain my little blue bird! " 

The holy cross answers : 


" Woman, I thank thee for my honor: thy splendid fruit, which 
now I bear, shines as a red blossom. 140 Not alone to save thee 
but to save the whole world this precious flower blooms in thee." 141 

Santa Crux says of the relation to each other of the 
two mothers (Isis in the morning and Isis in the even- 
ing) : 

" Thou hast been crowned as Queen of Heaven on account of 
the child, which thou hast borne. But I shall appear as the shining 
relic to the whole world, at the day of judgment. I shall then 
raise my lament for thy divine son innocently slain upon me." 

Thus the murderous mother of death unites with the 
mother of life in bringing forth a child. In their lament 
for the dying God, and as outward token of their union, 
Mary kisses the cross, and is reconciled to it. 142 The 
naive Egyptian antiquity has preserved for us the union 
of the contrasting tendencies in the mother idea of Isis. 
Naturally this imago is merely a symbol of the libido of 
the son for the mother, and describes the conflict be- 
tween love and incest resistance. The criminal incestuous 
purpose of the son appears projected as criminal cunning 
in the mother-imago. The separation of the son from 
the mother signifies the separation of man from the 
generic consciousness of animals, from that infantile 
archaic thought characterized by the absence of individual 

It was only the power of the incest prohibition which 
created the self-conscious individual,, who formerly had 
been thoughtlessly one with the tribe, and in this way 
alone did the idea of individual and final death become 


possible. Thus through the sin of Adam death came into 
the world. This, as is evident, is expressed figuratively, 
that is, in contrast form. The mother's defence against 
the incest appears to the son as a malicious act, which 
delivers him over to the fear of death. This conflict faces 
us in the Gilgamesh epic in its original freshness and 
passion, where also the incest wish is projected onto the 

The neurotic who cannot leave the mother has good 
reasons; the fear of death holds him there. It seems as 
if no idea and no word were strong enough to express 
the meaning of this. Entire religions were constructed 
in order to give words to the immensity of this conflict. 
This struggle for expression which continued down 
through the centuries certainly cannot have its source 
in the restricted realm of the vulgar conception of incest. 
Rather one must understand the law which is ultimately 
expressed as " Incest prohibition " as coercion to domes- 
tication, and consider the religious systems as institutions 
which first receive, then organize and gradually sublimate, 
the motor forces of the animal nature not immediately 
available for cultural purposes. 

We will now return to the visions of Miss Miller. 
Those now following need no further detailed discussion. 
The next vision is the image of a " purple bay." The 
symbolism of the sea connects smoothly with that which 
precedes. One might think here in addition of the 
reminiscences of the Bay of Naples, which we came across 
in Part I. In the sequence of the whole, however, we 
must not overlook the significance of the " bay." In 


French it is called une bate, which probably corre- 
sponds to a bay in the English text. It might be worth 
while here to glance at the etymological side of this 
idea. Bay is generally used for something which is open, 
just as the Catalonian word badia (bai) comes from 
badar, " to open." In French buyer means " to have the 
mouth open, to gape." Another word for the same is 
Meerbusen, " bay or gulf " ; Latin sinus, and a third word 
is golf (gulf), which in French stands in closest relation 
to gouffre = abyss. Golf is derived from " noXnos," 143 
which also means " bosom " and " womb," " mother- 
womb," also "vagina." It can also mean a fold of a 
dress or pocket; it may also mean a deep valley between 
high mountains. These expressions clearly show what 
primitive ideas lie at their base. They render intelligible 
Goethe's choice of words at that place where Faust wishes 
to follow the sun with winged desire in order in the ever- 
lasting day " to drink its eternal light " : 

" The mountain chain with all its gorges deep, 
Would then no more impede my godlike motion ; 
And now before mine eyes expands the ocean, 
With all its bays, in shining sleep ! " 

Faust's desire, like that of every hero, inclines towards 
the mysteries of rebirth, of immortality; therefore, his 
course leads to the sea, and down into the monstrous 
jaws of death, the horror and narrowness of which at 
the same time signify the new day. 

" Out on the open ocean speeds my dreaming: 
The glassy flood before my feet is gleaming, 
A new day beckons to a newer shore! 


A fiery chariot borne on buoyant pinions, 
Sweeps near me now! I soon shall ready be 
To pierce the ether's high, unknown dominions, 
To reach new spheres of pure activity! 
This Godlike rapture, this supreme existence. . . . 

" Yes, let me dare those gates to fling asunder, 
Which every man would fain go slinking by! 
'Tis time, through deeds this word of truth to thunder; 
That with the height of God's Man's dignity may vie! 
Nor from that gloomy gulf to shrink affrighted, 
Where fancy doth herself to self-born pangs compel, 
To struggle toward that pass benighted, 
Around whose narrow mouth flame all the fires of Hell: 
To take this step with cheerful resolution, 
Though Nothingness should be the certain swift conclusion! " 

It sounds like a confirmation, when the succeeding vision 
of Miss Miller's is une falaise a pic, " a steep, precipi- 
tous cliff." (Compare gouffre.) The entire series of 
individual visions is completed, as the author observes, 
by a confusion of sounds, somewhat resembling " wa-ma, 
wa-ma." This has a very primitive, barbaric sound. 
Since we learn from the author nothing of the subjective 
roots of this sound, nothing is left us but the suspicion 
that this sound might be considered, taken in connection 
with the whole, as a slight mutilation of the well-known 
call ma-ma. 



THERE now comes a pause in the production of visions 
by Miss Miller; then the activity of the unconscious is 
resumed very energetically. 

A forest with trees and bushes appears. 

After the discussions in the preceding chapter, there is 
need only of a hint that the symbol of the forest coincides 
essentially with the meaning of the holy tree. The holy 
tree is found generally in a sacred forest inclosure or in 
the garden of Paradise. The sacred grove often takes 
the place of the taboo tree and assumes all the attributes 
of the latter. The erotic symbolism of the garden is 
generally known. The forest, like the tree, has mytho- 
logically a maternal significance. In the vision which now 
follows, the forest furnishes the stage upon which the 
dramatic representation of the end of Chiwantopel is 
played. This act, therefore, takes place in or near the 

First, I will give the beginning of the drama as it is in 
the original text, up to the first attempt at sacrifice. At 
the beginning of the next chapter the reader will find the 
continuation, the monologue and the sacrificial scene. 
The drama begins as follows: 



" The personage Chiwantopel, came from the south, on horse- 
back; around him a cloak of vivid colors, red, blue and white. An 
Indian in a costume of doe skin, covered with beads and ornamented 
with feathers advances, squats down and prepares to let fly an 
arrow at Chiwantopel. The latter presents his breast in an attitude 
of defiance, and the Indian, fascinated by that sight, slinks away 
and disappears within the forest." 

The hero, Chiwantopel, appears on horseback. This 
fact seems of importance, because as the further course 
of the drama shows (see Chapter VIII) the horse plays 
no indifferent role, but suffers the same death as the hero, 
and is even called " faithful brother " by the latter. 
These allusions point to a remarkable similarity between 
horse and rider. There seems to exist an intimate con- 
nection between the two, which guides them to the same 
destiny. We already have seen that the symbolization of 
" the libido in resistance " through the " terrible mother " 
in some places runs parallel with the horse. 1 Strictly 
speaking, it would be incorrect to say that the horse is, or 
means, the mother. The mother idea is a libido symbol, 
and the horse is also a libido symbol, and at some points 
the two symbols intersect in their significances. The com- 
mon feature of the two ideas lies in the libido, especially 
in the libido repressed from incest. The hero and the 
horse appear to us in this setting like an artistic formation 
of the idea of humanity with its repressed libido, whereby 
the horse acquires the significance of the animal uncon- 
scious, which appears domesticated and subjected to the 
will of man. Agni upon the ram, Wotan upon Sleipneir, 
Ahuramazda upon Angromainyu, 2 Jahwe upon the mon- 
strous seraph, Christ upon the ass, 3 Dionysus upon the 


ass, Mithra upon the horse, Men upon the human-footed 
horse, Freir upon the golden-bristled boar, etc., are 
parallel representations. The chargers of mythology are 
always invested with great significance; they very often 
appear anthropomorphized. Thus, Men's horse has 
human forelegs; Balaam's ass, human speech; the retreat- 
ing bull, upon whose back Mithra springs in order to 
strike him down, is, according to a Persian legend, actu- 
ally the God himself. The mock crucifix of the Palatine 
represents the crucified with an ass's head, perhaps in 
reference to the ancient legend that in the temple of 
Jerusalem the image of an ass was worshipped. As 
Drosselbart (horse's mane) Wotan is half-human, 
half-horse. 4 An old German riddle very prettily shows 
this unity between horse and horseman. 5 " Who are the 
two, who travel to Thing? Together they have three 
eyes, ten feet 6 and one tail; and thus they travel over 
the land." Legends ascribe properties to the horse, which 
psychologically belong to the unconscious of man; horses 
are clairvoyant and clairaudient; they show the way when 
the lost wanderer is helpless; they have mantic powers. 
In the Iliad the horse prophesies evil. They hear the 
words which the corpse speaks when it is taken to the 
grave words which men cannot hear. Caesar learned 
from his human-footed horse (probably taken from the 
identification of Caesar with the Phrygian Men) that he 
was to conquer the world. An ass prophesied to Augustus 
the victory of Actium. The horse also sees phantoms. 
All these things correspond to typical manifestations of 
the unconscious. Therefore, it is perfectly intelligible 


that the horse, as the image of the wicked animal compo- 
nent of man, has manifold connections with the devil. 
The devil has a horse's foot; in certain circumstances a 
horse's form. At crucial moments he suddenly shows a 
cloven foot (proverbial) in the same way as in the abduc- 
tion of Hadding, Sleipneir suddenly looked out from be- 
hind Wotan's mantle. 7 Just as the nightmare rides on 
the sleeper, so does the devil, and, therefore, it is said 
that those who have nightmares are ridden by the devil. 
In Persian lore the devil is the steed of God. The devil, 
like all evil things, represents sexuality. Witches have 
intercourse with him, in which case he appears in the 
form of a goat or horse. The unmistakably phallic 
nature of the devil is communicated to the horse as well; 
hence this symbol occurs in connections where this is the 
only meaning which would furnish an explanation. It is 
to be mentioned that Loki generates in the form of a 
horse, just as does the devil when in horse's form, as an 
old fire god. Thus the lightning was represented therio- 
morphically as a horse. 8 An uneducated hysteric told me 
that as a child she had suffered from extreme fear of 
thunder, because every time the lightning flashed she saw 
immediately afterwards a huge black horse reaching up- 
wards as far as the sky. 9 It is said in a legend that the 
devil, as the divinity of lightning, casts a horse's foot 
(lightning) upon the roofs. In accordance with the 
primitive meaning of thunder as fertilizer of the earth, 
the phallic meaning is given both to lightning and the 
horse's foot. In mythology the horse's foot really has 
the phallic function as in this dream. An uneducated 


patient who originally had been violently forced to coitus 
by her husband very often dreams (after separation) 
that a wild horse springs upon her and kicks her in the 
abdomen with his hind foot Plutarch has given us the 
following words of a prayer from the Dionysus orgies: 

\6eiv ?)pG)G AiovvGS "Akiov e? vaov ayvov GVV Xaplrsff- 
ffiv &vaov rep fiotcp nodi dvoov, agie ravpe, agie ravps.* 10 

Pegasus with his foot strikes out of the earth the 
spring Hippocrene. Upon a Corinthian statue of Bel- 
lerophon, which was also a fountain, the water flowed out 
from the horse's hoof. Balder's horse gave rise to a 
spring through his kick. Thus the horse's foot is the 
dispenser of fruitful moisture. 11 A legend of lower 
Austria, told by Jaehns, informs us that a gigantic man 
on a white horse is sometimes seen riding over the moun- 
tains. This means a speedy rain. In the German legend 
the goddess of birth, Frau Holle, appears on horseback. 
Pregnant women near confinement are prone to give oats 
to a white horse from their aprons and to pray him to 
give them a speedy delivery. It was originally the custom 
for the horse to rub against the woman's genitals. The 
horse (like the ass) had in general the significance of a 
priapic animal. 12 Horse's tracks are idols dispensing 
blessing and fertility. Horse's tracks established a claim, 
and were of significance in determining boundaries, like 
the priaps of Latin antiquity. Like the phallic Dactyli, 
a horse opened the mineral riches of the Harz Moun- 

* Come, O Dionysus, in thy temple of Elis, come with the Graces into 
thy holy temple: come in sacred frenzy with the bull's foot. 


tains with his hoof. The horseshoe, an equivalent for 
horse's foot, 13 brings luck and has apotropaic meaning. 
In the Netherlands an entire horse's foot is hung up in 
the stable to ward against sorcery. The analogous effect 
of the phallus is well known; hence the phalli at the 
gates. In particular the horse's leg turned lightning aside, 
according to the principle " similia similibus." 

Horses also symbolize the wind, that is to say, the 
tertium comparationis is again the libido symbol. The 
German legend recognizes the wind as the wild hunts- 
man in pursuit of the maiden. Stormy regions frequently 
derive their names from horses, as the White Horse 
Mountain of the Liineburger heath. The centaurs are 
typical wind gods, and have been represented as such by 
Bocklin's artistic intuition. 14 

Horses also signify fire and light. The fiery horses of 
Helios are an example. The horses of Hector are called 
Xanthos (yellow, bright), Podargos (swift-footed), 
Lampos (shining) and Aithon (burning). A very pro- 
nounced fire symbolism was represented by the mystic 
Quadriga, mentioned by Dio Chrysostomus. The su- 
preme God always drives his chariot in a circle. Four 
horses are harnessed to the chariot. The horse driven 
on the periphery moves very quickly. He has a shining 
coat, and bears upon it the signs of the planets and the 
Zodiac. 15 This is a representation of the rotary fire of 
heaven. The second horse moves more slowly, and is 
illuminated only on one side. The third moves still more 
slowly, and the fourth rotates around himself. But once 
the outer horse set the second horse on fire with his fiery 


breath, and the third flooded the fourth with his stream- 
ing sweat. Then the horses dissolve and pass over into 
the substance of the strongest and most fiery, which now 
becomes the charioteer. The horses also represent the 
four elements. The catastrophe signifies the conflagra- 
tion of the world and the deluge, whereupon the division 
of the God into many parts ceases, and the divine unity 
is restored. 16 Doubtless the Quadriga may be understood 
astronomically as a symbol of time. We already saw in 
the first part that the stoic representation of Fate is a 
fire symbol. It is, therefore, a logical continuation of 
the thought, when time, closely related to the conception 
of destiny, exhibits this same libido symbolism. Brihada- 
ranyaka-Upanishad, i: i, says: 

" The morning glow verily is the head of the sacrificial horse, 
the sun his eye, the wind his breath, the all-spreading fire his 
mouth, the year is the belly of the sacrificial horse. The sky is 
his back, the atmosphere the cavern of his body, the earth the vault 
of his belly. The poles are his sides, in between the poles his ribs, 
the seasons his limbs, the months and fortnights his joints. Days 
and nights are his feet, stars his bones, clouds his flesh. The food 
he digests is the deserts, the rivers are his veins, the mountains his 
liver and lungs, the herbs and trees his hair; the rising sun is his 
fore part, the setting sun his after part. The ocean is his kinsman, 
the sea his cradle." 

The horse undoubtedly here stands for a time symbol, 
and also for the entire world. We come across in the 
Mithraic religion, a strange God of Time, Aion, 
called Kronos or Deus Leontocephalus, because his 
stereotyped representation is a lion-headed man, who, 
standing in a rigid attitude, is encoiled by a snake, whose 


head projects forward from behind over the lion's 
head. The figure holds in each hand a key, on the chest 
rests a thunderbolt, upon his back are the four wings of 
the wind; in addition to that, the figure sometimes bears 
the Zodiac on his body. Additional attributes are a cock 
and implements. In the Carolingian psalter of Utrecht, 
which is based upon ancient models, the Saeculum-Aion is 
represented as a naked man with a snake in his hand. As 
is suggested by the name of the divinity, he is a symbol 
of time, most interestingly composed from libido 
symbols. The lion, the zodiac sign of the greatest sum- 
mer heat, 17 is the symbol of the most mighty desire. 
( u My soul roars with the voice of a hungry lion," says 
Mechthild of Magdeburg.) In the Mithra mystery the 
serpent is often antagonistic to the lion, corresponding to 
that very universal myth of the battle of the sun with the 

In the Egyptian Book of the Dead, Turn is even desig- 
nated as a he-cat, because as such he fought the snake, 
Apophis. The encoiling also means the engulfing, the 
entering into the mother's womb. Thus time is defined 
by the rising and setting of the sun, that is to say, through 
the death and renewal of the libido. The addition of the 
cock again suggests time, and the addition of implements 
suggests the creation through time. (" Duree creatrice," 
Bergson. ) Oromazdes and Ahriman were produced 
through Zrwanakarana, the " infinitely long duration." 
Time, this empty and purely formal concept, is expressed 
in the mysteries by transformations of the creative power, 
the libido. Macrobius says : 


" Leonis capite monstratur praesens tempus quia conditio 
ejus valida fervensque est." * 

Philo of Alexandria has a better understanding: 

" Tempus ab hominibus pessimis putatur deus volentibus Ens es- 
sentiale abscondere pravis hominibus tempus putatur causa rerum 
mundi, sapientibus vero et optimis non tempus sed Deus." f 18 

In Firdusi 10 time is often the symbol of fate, the 
libido nature of which we have already learned to recog- 
nize. The Hindoo text mentioned above includes still 
more its symbol of the horse contains the whole world; 
his kinsman and his cradle is the sea, the mother, similar 
to the world soul, the materna.1 significance of which we 
have seen above. Just as Aion represents the libido in 
an embrace, that is to say, in the state of death and of 
rebirth, so here the cradle of the horse is the sea, i. e. 
the libido is in the mother, dying and rising again, like 
the symbol of the dying and resurrected Christ, who 
hangs like ripe fruit upon the tree of life. 

We have already seen that the horse is connected 
through Ygdrasil with the symbolism of the tree. The 
horse is also a " tree of death " ; thus in the Middle Ages 
the funeral pyre was called St. Michael's horse, and the 
neb-Persian word for coffin means u wooden horse." 20 
The horse has also the role of psycho-pompos ; he is the 
steed to conduct the souls to the other world horse- 

*The present time is indicated by the head of the lion because his 
condition is strong and impetuous. 

fTime is thought by the wickedest people to be a divinity who de- 
prives willing people of essential being; by good men it is considered to 
be the Cause of the things of the world, but to the wisest and best it does 
not seem time, but God, 


women fetch the souls (Valkyries). Neo-Greek songs 
represent Charon on a horse. These definitions obviously 
lead to the mother symbolism. The Trojan horse was 
the only means by which the city could be conquered; be- 
cause only he who has entered the mother and been reborn 
is an invincible hero. The Trojan horse is a magic 
charm, like the " Nodfyr," which also serves to overcome 
necessity. The formula evidently reads, " In order to 
overcome the difficulty, thou must commit incest, and 
once more be born from thy mother." It appears that 
striking a nail into the sacred tree signifies something very 
similar. The " Stock im Eisen " in Vienna seems to have 
been such a palladium. 

Still another symbolic form is to be considered. Occa- 
sionally the devil rides upon a three-legged horse. The 
Goddess of Death, Hel, in time of pestilence, also rides 
upon a three-legged horse. 21 The gigantic ass, which is 
three-legged, stands in the heavenly rain lake Vouru- 
kasha ; his urine purifies the water of the lake, and from 
his roar all useful animals become pregnant and all harm- 
ful animals miscarry. The Triad further points to the 
phallic significance. The contrasting symbolism of Hel is 
blended into one conception in the ass of Vourukasha. 
The libido is fructifying as well as destroying. 

These definitions, as a whole, plainly reveal the funda- 
mental features. The horse is a libido symbol, partly of 
phallic, partly of maternal significance, like the tree. It 
represents the libido in this application, that is, the libido 
repressed through the incest prohibition. 


In the Miller drama an Indian approaches the hero, 
ready to shoot an arrow at him. Chiwantopel, however, 
with a proud gesture, exposes his breast to the enemy. 
This idea reminds the author of the scene between Cassius 
and Brutus in Shakespeare's " Julius Caesar." A misun- 
derstanding has arisen between the two friends, when 
Brutus reproaches Cassius for withholding from him the 
money for the legions. Cassius, irritable and angry, 
breaks out into the complaint : 

" Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is a-weary of the world : 
Hated by one he loves: braved by his brother: 
Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observed: 
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote, 
To cast into my teeth. O I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger, 
And here my naked breast; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
If that thou beest a Roman, take it forth: 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart. 
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for I know 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better 
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius." 

The material here would be incomplete without men- 
tioning the fact that this speech of Cassius shows many 
analogies to the agonized delirium of Cyrano (compare 
Part I), only Cassius is far more theatrical and over- 
drawn. Something childish and hysterical is in his man- 
ner. Brutus does not think of killing him, but adminis- 
ters a very chilling rebuke in the following dialogue : 


BRUTUS: Sheathe your dagger: 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope : 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
O CassiuSj you are yoked with a lamb 
That carries anger as the flint bears fire : 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
And straight is cold again. 

CASSIUS: Hath Cassius liv'd 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus 
When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him? 

BRUTUS: When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. 

CASSIUS: Do you confess so much ? Give me your hand. 

BRUTUS: And my heart too. 
CASSIUS: O Brutus! 


What's the matter ? 

CASSIUS : Have not you love enough to bear with me 

When that rash humor which my mother gave me 
Makes me forgetful? 

BRUTUS s Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth 

When you are over earnest with your Brutus, 
He'll think your mother chides and leave you so. 

The analytic interpretation of Cassius's irritability 
plainly reveals that at these moments he identifies himself 
with the mother, and his conduct, therefore, is truly femi- 
nine, as his speech demonstrates most excellently. For his 
womanish love-seeking and desperate subjection under 
the proud masculine will of Brutus calls forth the friendly 
remark of the latter, that Cassius is yoked with a lamb, 
that is to say, has something very weak in his character, 


which is derived from the mother. One recognizes in 
this without any difficulty the analytic hall-marks of an 
infantile disposition, which, as always, is characterized 
by a prevalence of the parent-imago, here the mother- 
imago. An infantile individual is infantile because he has 
freed himself insufficiently, or not at all, from the child- 
ish environment, that is, from his adaptation to his 
parents. Therefore, on one side, he reacts falsely towards 
the world, as a child towards his parents, always demand- 
ing love and immediate reward for his feelings; on the 
other side, on account of the close connection to the par- 
ents, he identifies himself with them. The infantile indi- 
vidual behaves like the father and mother. He is not in 
a condition to live for himself and to find the place to 
which he belongs. Therefore, Brutus very justly takes 
it for granted that the " mother chides " in Cassius, not 
he himself. The psychologically valuable fact which we 
gather here is the information that Cassius is infantile 
and identified with the mother. The hysterical behavior 
is due to the circumstance that Cassius is still, in part, a 
lamb, and an innocent and entirely harmless child. He 
remains, as far as his emotional life is concerned, still far 
behind himself. This we often see among people who, 
as masters, apparently govern life and fellow-creatures; 
they have remained children in regard to the demands of 
their love nature. 

The figures of the Miller dramas, being children of the 
creator's phantasy, depict, as is natural, those traits of 
character which belong to the author. The hero, the wish 
figure, is represented as most distinguished, because the 


hero always combines in himself all wished-for ideals. 
Cyrano's attitude is certainly beautiful and impressive; 
Cassius's behavior has a theatrical effect. Both heroes 
prepare to die effectively, in which attempt Cyrano suc- 
ceeds. This attitude betrays a wish for death in the un- 
conscious of our author, the meaning of which we have 
already discussed at length as the motive for her poem 
of the moth. The wish of young girls to die is only an 
indirect expression, which remains a pose, even in case 
of real death, for death itself can be a pose. Such an 
outcome merely adds beauty and value to the pose under 
certain conditions. That the highest summit of life is 
expressed through the symbolism of death is a well-known 
fact; for creation beyond one's self means personal death. 
The coming generation is the end of the preceding one. 
This symbolism is frequent in erotic speech. The lascivi- 
ous speech between Lucius and the wanton servant-maid 
in Apuleius (" Metamorphoses," lib. ii: 32) is one of the 
clearest examples : 

" Proeliare, inquit, et fortiter proeliare : nee enim tibi cedam, 
nee terga vortam. Cominus in aspectum, si vir es, dirige; et 
grassare naviter, et occide moriturus. Hodierna pugna non habet 
missionem. Simul ambo corruimus inter mutuos amplexus animas 
anhelantes." * 

This symbolism is extremely significant, because it 
shows how easily a contrasting expression originates and 

* "Fight," she said, " and fight bravely, for I will not give away an 
inch nor turn my back. Face to face, come on if you are a man! Strike 
home, do your worst and die! The battle this day is without quarter . . . 
till, weary in body and mind, we lie powerless and gasping for breath 
in each other's arms." 


how equally intelligible and characteristic such an expres- 
sion is. The proud gesture with which the hero offers 
himself to death may very easily be an indirect expression 
which challenges the pity or sympathy of the other, and 
thus is doomed to the calm analytic reduction to which 
Brutus proceeds. The behavior of Chiwantopel is also 
suspicious, because the Cassius scene which serves as its 
model betrays indiscreetly that the whole affair is merely 
infantile and one which owes its origin to an overactive 
mother imago. When we compare this piece with the 
series of mother symbols brought to light in the previous 
chapter, we must say that the Cassius scene merely con- 
firms once more what we 'have long supposed, that is to 
say, that the motor power of these symbolic visions arises 
from an infantile mother transference, that is to say, 
from an undetached bond to the mother. 

In the drama the libido, in contradistinction to the in- 
active nature of the previous symbols, assumes a threaten- 
ing activity, a conflict becoming evident, in which the one 
part threatens the other with murder. The hero, as the 
ideal image of the dreamer, is inclined to die ; he does not 
fear death. In accordance with the infantile character of 
this hero, it would most surely be time for him to take his 
departure from the stage, or, in childish language, to die. 
Death is to come to him in the form of an arrow-wound. 
Considering the fact that heroes themselves are very 
often great archers or succumb to an arrow-wound (St. 
Sebastian, as an example), it may not be superfluous to 
inquire into the meaning of death through an arrow. 

We read in the biography of the stigmatized nun Kath- 


erine Emmerich 22 the following description of the evi- 
dently neurotic sickness of her heart : 

" When only in her novitiate, she received as a Christmas 
present from the holy Christ a very tormenting heart trouble for 
the whole period of her nun's life. God showed her inwardly 
the purpose; it was on account of the decline of the spirit of the 
order, especially for the sins of her fellow-sisters. But what 
rendered this trouble most painful was the gift which she had 
possessed from youth, namely, to see before her eyes the inner 
nature of man as he really was. She felt the heart trouble 
physically as if her heart was continually pierced by arrows. 23 
These arrows and this represented the still worse mental suf- 
fering she recognized as the thoughts, plots, secret speeches, 
misunderstandings, scandal and uncharitableness, in which her 
fellow-sisters, wholly without reason and unscrupulously, were 
engaged against her and her god-fearing way of life." 

It is difficult to be a saint, because even a patient and 
long-suffering nature will not readily bear such a viola- 
tion, and defends itself in its own way. The companion 
of sanctity is temptation, without which no true saint can 
live. We know from analytic experience that these 
temptations can pass unconsciously, so that only their 
equivalents would be produced in consciousness in the 
form of symptoms. We know that it is proverbial that 
heart and smart (Herz and Schmerz) rhyme. It is a 
well-known fact that hysterics put a physical pain in place 
of a mental pain. The biographer of Emmerich has com- 
prehended that very correctly. Only her interpretation of 
the pain is, as usual, projected. It is always the others 
who secretly assert all sorts of evil things about her, and 
this she pretended gave her the pains. 24 The case, how- 


ever, bears a somewhat different aspect. The very diffi- 
cult renunciation of all life's joys, this death before the 
bloom, is generally painful, and especially painful are the 
unfulfilled wishes and the attempts of the animal nature to 
break through the power of repression. The gossip and 
jokes of the sisters very naturally centre around these 
most painful things, so that it must appear to the saint 
as if her symptoms were caused by this. Naturally, again, 
she could not know that gossip tends to assume the role 
of the unconscious, which, like a clever adversary, always 
aims at the actual gaps in our armor. 

A passage from Gautama Buddha embodies this idea : 25 

" A wish earnestly desired 
Produced by will, and nourished 
When gradually it must be thwarted, 
Burrows like an arrow in the flesh." 

The wounding and painful arrows do not come from 
without through gossip, which only attacks externally, 
but they come from ambush, from our own unconscious. 
This, rather than anything external, creates the defense- 
less suffering. It is our own repressed and unrecognized 
desires which fester like arrows in our flesh. 26 In another 
connection this was clear to the nun, and that most liter- 
ally. It is a well-known fact, and one which needs no 
further proof to those who understand, that these mystic 
scenes of union with the Saviour generally are intermin- 
gled with an enormous amount of sexual libido. 27 There- 
fore, it is not astonishing that the scene of the stigmata 
is nothing but an incubation through the Saviour, only 


slightly changed metaphorically, as compared with the 
ancient conception of " unio mystica," as cohabitation 
with the god. Emmerich relates the following of her 
stigmatization : 

" I had a contemplation of the sufferings of Christ, and im- 
plored him to let me feel with him his sorrows, and prayed five 
paternosters to the honor of the five sacred wounds. Lying on 
my bed with outstretched arms, I entered into a great sweetness 
and into an endless thirst for the torments of Jesus. Then I saw 
a light descending upon me: it came obliquely from above. It 
was a crucified body, living and transparent, with arms extended, 
but without a cross. The wounds shone brighter than the body; 
they were five circles of glory, coming forth from the whole glory. 
I was enraptured and my heart was moved with great pain and 
yet with sweetness from longing to share in the torments of my 
Saviour. And my longings for the sorrows of the Redeemer 
increased more and more on gazing on his wounds, and passed 
from my breast, through my hands, sides and feet to his holy 
wounds: then from the hands, then from the sides, then from 
the feet of the figure threefold shining red beams ending below 
in an arrow, shot forth to my hands, sides and feet." 

The beams, in accordance with the phallic fundamental 
thought, are threefold, terminating below in an arrow- 
point. 28 Like Cupid, the sun, too, has its quiver, full of 
destroying or fertilizing arrows, sun rays, 29 which possess 
phallic meaning. On this significance evidently rests the 
Oriental custom of designating brave sons as arrows and 
javelins of the parents. " To make sharp arrows " is an 
Arabian expression for " to generate brave sons." The 
Psalms declare (cxxvii:4) : 

" Like as the arrows in the hands of the giant; even so are the 
young children." 


(Compare with this the remarks previously made 
about " boys.") Because of this significance of the arrow 
it is intelligible why the Scythian king Ariantes, when he 
wished to prepare a census, demanded an arrow-head 
from each man. A similar meaning attaches equally to 
the lance. Men are descended from the lance, because 
the ash is the mother of lances. Therefore, the men of 
the Iron Age are derived from her. The marriage cus- 
tom to which Ovid alludes (" Comat virgineas hasta 
recurva comas" Fastorum, lib. ii:56o) has already 
been mentioned. Kaineus issued a command that his 
lance be honored. Pindar relates in the legend of this 
Kaineus : 

" He descended into the depths, splitting the earth with" a 
straight foot." 80 

He is said to have originally been a maiden named 
Kainis, who, because of her complaisance, was trans- 
formed into an invulnerable man by Poseidon. Ovid 
pictures the battle of the Lapithae with the invulnerable 
Kaineus; how at last they covered him completely with 
trees, because they could not otherwise touch him. Ovid 
says at this place : 

" Exitus in dubio est : alii sub inania corpus 
Tartara detrusum silvarum mole ferebant, 
Abnuit Ampycides : medioque ex aggere f ulvis 
Vidit avem pennis liquidas exire sub auras." * 

*The result is doubtful: the body borne down by the weight of the 
forest is carried into empty Tartaros: Ampycides denies this: from out 
of the midst of the mass, he sees a bird with tawny feathers issue into 
the liquid air. 


Roscher considers this bird to be the golden plover 
(Charadrius pluvialis), which borrows its name from the 
fact that it lives in the xapadpa, a crevice in the earth. 
By his song he proclaims the approaching rain. Kaineus 
was changed into this bird. 

We see again in this little myth the typical constituents 
of the libido myth: original bisexuality, immortality (in- 
vulnerability) through entrance into the mother (split- 
ting the mother with the foot, and to become covered up) 
and resurrection as a bird of the soul and a bringer of 
fertility (ascending sun). When this type of hero causes 
his lance to be worshipped, it probably means that his 
lance is a valid and equivalent expression of him- 

From our present standpoint, we understand in a new 
sense that passage in Job, which I mentioned in Chap- 
ter IV of the first part of this book: 

" He has set me up for his mark. 

"His archers compass me round about, he cleaveth my reins 
asunder, and doth not spare: he poureth out my gall upon the 

" He breaketh me with breach upon breach: he runneth upon 
me like a giant." Job xvi: 12-13-14. 

Now we understand this symbolism as an expression 
for the soul torment caused by the onslaught of the un- 
conscious desires. The libido festers in his flesh, a cruel 
god has taken possession of him and pierced him with 
his painful libidian projectiles, with thoughts, which over- 
whelmingly pass through him. (As a dementia praecox 
patient once said to me during his recovery: u To-day a 


thought suddenly thrust itself through me.") This same 
idea is found again in Nietzsche in Zarathustra : 

The Magician 

Stretched out, shivering 

Like one half dead whose feet are warmed, 

Shaken alas! by unknown fevers, 

Trembling from the icy pointed arrows of frost, 

Hunted by Thee, O Thought! 

Unutterable! Veiled! Horrible One! 

Thou huntsman behind the clouds! 

Struck to the ground by thee, 

Thou mocking eye that gazeth at me from the dark! 

Thus do I lie 

Bending, writhing, tortured 

With all eternal tortures, 


By thee, crudest huntsman, 

Thou unfamiliar God. 

Smite deeper! 

Smite once more: 

Pierce through and rend my heart! 

What meaneth this torturing 

With blunt-toothed arrows? 

Why gazeth thou again, 

Never weary of human pain, 

With malicious, God-lightning eyes, 

Thou wilt not kill, 

But torture, torture? 

No long-drawn-out explanation is necessary to enable 
us to recognize in this comparison the old, universal idea 
of the martyred sacrifice of God, which we have met pre- 
viously in the Mexican sacrifice of the cross and in the 
sacrifice of Odin. 31 This same conception faces us in 


the oft-repeated martyrdom of St. Sebastian, where, in 
the delicate-glowing flesh of the young god, all the pain 
of renunciation which has been felt by the artist has been 
portrayed. An artist always embodies in his artistic work 
a portion of the mysteries of his time. In a heightened 
degree the same is true of the principal Christian symbol, 
the crucified one pierced by the lance, the conception of 
the man of the Christian era tormented by his wishes, 
crucified and dying in Christ. 

This is not torment which comes from without, which 
befalls mankind; but that he himself is the hunter, mur- 
derer, sacrificer and sacrificial knife is shown us in another 
of Nietzsche's poems, wherein the apparent dualism is 
transformed into the soul conflict through the use of the 
same symbolism: 

" Oh, Zarathustra, 
Most cruel Nimrod ! 
Whilom hunter of God 
The snare of all virtue, 
An arrow of evil ! 

Hunted by thyself 
Thine own prey 
Pierced through thyself, 

Alone with thee 

Twofold in thine own knowledge 
Mid a hundred mirrors 
False to thyself, 
Mid a hundred memories 

Ailing with each wound 
Shivering with each frost 


Caught in thine own snares, 
Self knower! 
Self hangman! 

"Why didst thou strangle thyself 
With the noose of thy wisdom? 
Why hast thou enticed thyself 
Into the Paradise of the old serpent? 
Why hast thou crept 
Into thyself, thyself? ..." 

The deadly arrows do not strike the hero from with- 
out, but it is he himself who, in disharmony with himself, 
hunts, fights and tortures himself. Within himself will 
has turned against will, libido against libido therefore, 
the poet says, " Pierced through thyself, 1 ' that is to say, 
wounded by his own arrow. Because we have discerned 
that the arrow is a libido symbol, the idea of " penetrat- 
ing or piercing through " consequently becomes clear to 
us. It is a phallic act of union with one's self, a sort of 
self-fertilization (introversion) ; also a self-violatioi), a 
self-murder; therefore, Zarathustra may call himself his 
own hangman, like Odin, who sacrifices himself to Odin. 

The wounding by one's own arrow means, first of all, 
the state of introversion. What this signifies we .already 
know the libido sinks into its u own depths " (a well- 
known comparison of Nietzsche's) and finds there below, 
in the shadows of the unconscious, the substitute for the 
upper world, which it has abandoned : the world of mem- 
ories (" 'mid a hundred memories "), the strongest and 
most influential of which are the early infantile memory 
pictures. It is the world of the child, this paradise-like 


state of earliest childhood, from which we are separated 
by a hard law. In this subterranean kingdom slumber 
sweet feelings of home and the endless hopes of all that 
is to be. As Heinrich in the " Sunken Bell," by Gerhart 
Hauptmann, says, in speaking of his miraculous work: 

" There is a song lost and forgotten, 
A song of home, a love song of childhood, 
Brought up from the depths of the fairy well, 
Known to all, but yet unheard." 

However, as Mephistopheles says, " The danger is 
great." These depths are enticing; they are the mother 
and death. When the libido leaves the bright upper 
world, whether from the decision of the individual or 
from decreasing life force, then it sinks back into its own 
depths, into the source from which it has gushed forth, 
and turns back to that point of cleavage, the umbilicus, 
through which it once entered into this body. This point 
of cleavage is called the mother, because from her comes 
the source of the libido. Therefore, when some great 
work is to be accomplished, before which weak man re- 
coils, doubtful of his strength, his libido returns to that 
source and this is the dangerous moment, in which the 
decision takes place between annihilation and new life. 
If the libido remains arrested in the wonder kingdom of 
the inner world, 32 then the man has become for the world 
above a phantom, then he is practically dead or des- 
perately ill. 33 But if the libido succeeds in tearing itself 
loose and pushing up into the world above, then a miracle 
appears. This journey to the underworld has been a 


fountain of youth, and new fertility springs from his ap- 
parent death. This train of thought is very beautifully 
gathered into a Hindoo myth : Once upon a time, Vishnu 
sank into an ecstasy (introversion) and during this state 
of sleep bore Brahma, who, enthroned upon the lotus 
flower, arose from the navel of Vishnu, bringing with 
him the Vedas, which he diligently read. (Birth of crea- 
tive thought from introversion.) But through Vishnu's 
ecstasy a devouring flood came upon the world. (Devour- 
ing through introversion, symbolizing the danger of enter- 
ing into the mother of death.) A demon taking advan- 
tage of the danger, stole the Vedas from Brahma and 
hid them in the depths. (Devouring of the libido.) 
Brahma roused Vishnu, and the latter, transforming 
himself into a fish, plunged into the flood, fought with 
the demon (battle with the dragon), conquered him and 
recaptured the Vedas. (Treasure obtained with diffi- 

Self-concentration and the strength derived therefrom 
correspond to this primitive train of thought. It also 
explains numerous sacrificial and magic rites which we 
have already fully discussed. Thus the impregnable Troy 
falls because the besiegers creep into the belly of a wooden 
horse; for he alone is a hero who is reborn from the 
mother, like the sun. But the danger of this venture is 
shown by the history of Philoctetes, who was the only 
one in the Trojan expedition who knew the hidden sanc- 
tuary of Chryse, where the Argonauts had sacrificed al- 
ready, and where the Greeks planned to sacrifice in order 
to assure a safe ending to their undertaking. Chryse 


was a nymph upon the island of Chryse; according 
to the account of the scholiasts in Sophocles's " Ptu'loc- 
tetes," this nymph loved Philoctetes, and cursed him be- 
cause he spurned her love. This characteristic projection, 
which is also met with in the Gilgamesh epic, should be 
referred back,* as suggested, to the repressed incest wish 
of the son, who is represented through the projection as if 
the mother had the evil wish, for the refusal of which the 
son was given over to death. In reality, however, the son 
becomes mortal by separating himself from the mother. 
His fear of death, therefore, corresponds to the repressed 
wish to turn back to the mother, and causes him to be- 
lieve that the mother threatens or pursues him. The 
teleological significance of this fear of persecution is evi- 
dent; it is to keep son and mother apart. 

The curse of Chryse is realized in so far that Philoc- 
tetes, according to one version, when approaching his 
altar, injured himself in his foot with one of his own 
deadly poisonous arrows, or, according to another ver- 
sion 34 (this is better and far more abundantly proven), 
was bitten in his foot by a poisonous serpent. From 
then on he is ailing. 36 

This very typical wound, which also destroyed Re, is 
described in the following manner in an Egyptian hymn: 

" The ancient of the Gods moved his mouth, 
He cast his saliva upon the earth, 
And what he spat, fell upon the ground. 
With her hands Isis kneaded that and the soil 
Which was about it, together: 
From that she created a venerable worm, 
And made him like a spear. 


She did not twist him living around her face, 
But threw him coiled upon the path, 
Upon which the great God wandered at ease 
Through all his lands. 

" The venerable God stepped forth radiantly, 
The gods who served Pharaoh accompanied him, 
And he proceeded as every day. 
Then the venerable worm stung him. . . . 
The divine God opened his mouth 
And the voice of his majesty echoed even to the sky. 
And the gods exclaimed: Behold! 
Thereupon he could not answer, 
His jaws chattered, 
All his limbs trembled 
And the poison gripped his flesh, 
As the Nile seizes upon the land." 

In this hymn Egypt has again preserved for us a primi- 
tive conception of the serpent's sting. The aging of the 
autumn sun as an image of human senility is symbolically 
traced back to the mother through the poisoning by the 
serpent. The mother is reproached, because her malice 
causes the death of the sun-god. The serpent, the primi- 
tive symbol of fear, 37 illustrates the repressed tendency to 
turn back to the mother, because the only possibility of 
security from death is possessed by the mother, as the 
source of life. 

Accordingly, only the mother can cure him, sick unto 
death, and, therefore, the hymn goes on to depict how the 
gods were assembled to take counsel: 

" And Isis came with her wisdom : 
Her mouth is full of the breath of life, 
Her words banish sorrow, 
And her speech animates those who no longer breathe. 


She said: 'What is that; what is that, divine father? 
Behold, a worm has brought you sorrow ' 

" ' Tell me thy name, divine father, 

Because the man remains alive, who is called by his name.' " 

Whereupon Re replied : 

E * I am he, who created heaven and earth, and piled up the hills, 
And created all beings thereon. 

I am he, who made the water and caused the great flood, 
Who produced the bull of his mother, 
Who is the procreator,' etc. 

" The poison did not depart, it went further, 
The great God was not cured. 
Then said Isis to Re: 
' Thine is not the name thou hast told me. 
Tell me true that the poison may leave thee, 
For he whose name is spoken will live.' " 

Finally Re decides to speak his true name. He is ap- 
proximately healed (imperfect composition of Osiris) ; 
but he has lost his power, and finally he retreats to the 
heavenly cow. 

The poisonous worm is, if one may speak in this way, 
a " negative " phallus, a deadly, not an animating, form 
of libido; therefore, a wish for death, instead of a wish 
for life. The "true name" is soul and magic power; 
hence a symbol of libido. What Isis demands is the re- 
transference of the libido to the mother goddess. This 
request is fulfilled literally, for the aged god turns back 
to the divine cow, the symbol of the mother. 88 This sym- 
bolism is clear from our previous explanations. The 
onward urging, living libido which rules the conscious- 


ness of the son, demands separation from the mother. 
The longing of the child for the mother is a hindrance 
on the path to this, taking the form of a psychologic re- 
sistance, which is expressed empirically in the neurosis by 
all manners of fears, that is to say, the fear of life. The 
more a person withdraws from adaptation to reality, and 
falls into slothful inactivity, the greater becomes his 
anxiety (cum grano sails), which everywhere besets him 
at each point as a hindrance upon his path. The fear 
springs from the mother, that is to say, from the longing 
to go back to the mother, which is opposed to the adapta- 
tion to reality. This is the way in which the mother has 
become apparently the malicious pursuer. Naturally, it 
is not the actual mother, although the actual mother, with 
the abnormal tenderness with which she sometimes pur- 
sues her child, even into adult years, may gravely injure 
it through a willful prolonging of the infantile state in 
the child. It is rather the mother-imago, which becomes 
the Lamia. The mother-imago, however, possesses its 
power solely and exclusively from the son's tendency not 
only to look and to work forwards, but also to glance 
backwards to the pampering sweetness of childhood, to 
that glorious state of irresponsibility and security with 
which the protecting mother-care once surrounded him. 30 
The retrospective longing acts like a paralyzing poison 
upon the energy and enterprise; so that it may well be 
compared to a poisonous serpent which lies across our 
path. Apparently, it is a hostile demon which robs us 
of energy, but, in reality, it is the individual unconscious, 
the retrogressive tendency of which begins to overcome 


the conscious forward striving. The cause of this can 
be, for example, the natural aging which weakens the 
energy, or it may be great external difficulties, which 
cause man to break down and become a child again, or 
it may be, and this is probably the most frequent cause, 
the woman who enslaves the man, so that he can no 
longer free himself, and becomes a child again. 40 It may 
be of significance also that Isis, as sister-wife of the sun- 
god, creates the poisonous animal from the spittle of the 
god, which is perhaps a substitute for sperma, and, there- 
fore, is a symbol of libido. She creates the animal from 
the libido of the god; that means she receives his power, 
making him weak and dependent, so that by this means 
she assumes the dominating role of the mother. (Mother 
transference to the wife.) This part is preserved in the 
legend of Samson, in the role of Delilah, who cut off 
Samson's hair, the sun's rays, thus robbing him of his 
strength. 41 Any weakening of the adult man strengthens 
the wishes of the unconscious; therefore, the decrease of 
strength appears directly as the backward striving towards 
the mother. 

There is still to be considered one more source of the 
reanimation of the mother-imago. We have already met 
it in the discussion of the mother scene in u Faust," that 
is to say, the willed introversion of a creative mind, which, 
retreating before its own problem and inwardly collecting 
its forces, dips at least for a moment into the source of 
life, in order there to wrest a little more strength from 
the mother for the completion of its work. It is a mother- 
child play with one's self, in which lies much weak self- 


admiration and self-adulation ("Among a hundred mir- 
rors " Nietzsche); a Narcissus state, a strange spec- 
tacle, perhaps, for profane eyes. The separation from 
the mother-imago, the birth out of one's self, reconciles all 
conflicts through the sufferings. This is probably meant 
by Nietzsche's verse : 

" Why hast thou enticed thyself 
Into the Paradise of the old serpent? 
Why hast thou crept 
Into thyself, thyself? . . . 

" A sick man now 
Sick of a serpent's poison," 
A captive now 

Whom the hardest destiny befell 
In thine own pit; 
Bowed down as thou workest 
Encaved within thyself, 
Burrowing into thyself, 
A corpse. 

Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens, 
Overburdened by thyself. 
A wise man, 
A self-knower, 
The wise Zarathustra ; 
Thou soughtest the heaviest burden 
And foundest thou thyself. ..." 

The symbolism of this speech is of the greatest rich- 
ness. He is buried in the depths of self, as if in the earth; 
really a dead man who has turned back to mother 
earth; 43 a Kaineus " piled with a hundred burdens " and 
pressed down to death; the one who groaning bears the 


heavy burden of his own libido, of that libido which 
draws him- back to the mother. Who does not think of 
the Taurophoria of Mithra, who took his bull (accord- 
ing to the Egyptian hymn, "the bull of his mother"), 
that is, his love for his mother, the heaviest burden upon 
his back, and with that entered upon the painful course 
of the so-called Transitus ! 44 This path of passion led to 
the cave, in which the bull was sacrificed. Christ, too, had 
to bear the cross, 45 the symbol of his love for the mother, 
and he carried it to the place of sacrifice where the lamb 
was slain in the form of the God, the infantile man, a 
" self-executioner," and then to burial in the subterranean 
sepulchre. 46 

That which in Nietzsche appears as a poetical figure of 
speech is really a primitive myth. It is as if the poet 
still possessed a dim idea or capacity to feel and reacti- 
vate those imperishable phantoms of long-past worlds of 
thought in the words of our present-day speech and in 
the images which crowd themselves into his phantasy. 
Hauptmann also says: " Poetic rendering is that which 
allows the echo of the primitive word to resound through 
the form." 47 

The sacrifice, with its mysterious and manifold mean- 
ing, which is rather hinted at than expressed, passes un- 
recognized in the unconscious of our author. The arrow 
is not shot, the hero Chiwantopel is not yet fatally 
poisoned and ready for death through self-sacrifice. We 
now can say, according to the preceding material, this 
sacrifice means renouncing the mother, that is to say, re- 


nunciation of all bonds and limitations which the soul 
has taken with it from the period of childhood into the 
adult life. From various hints of Miss Miller's it ap- 
pears that at the time of these phantasies she was still 
living in the circle of the family, evidently at an age 
which was in urgent need of independence. That is to 
say, man does not live very long in the infantile environ- 
ment or in the bosom of his family without real danger 
to his mental health. Life calls him forth to independ- 
ence, and he who gives no heed to this hard call because 
of childish indolence and fear is threatened by a neurosis, 
and once the neurosis has broken out it becomes more and 
more a valid reason to escape the battle with life and to 
remain for all time in the morally poisoned infantile 

The phantasy of the arrow-wound belongs in this 
struggle for personal independence. The thought of this 
resolution has not yet penetrated the dreamer. On the 
contrary, she rather repudiates it. After all the preced- 
ing, it is evident that the symbolism of the arrow-wound 
through direct translation must be taken as a coitus 
symbol. The " Occide moriturus " attains by this means 
the sexual significance belonging to it. Chiwantopel natu- 
rally represents the dreamer. But nothing is attained and 
nothing is understood through one's reduction to the 
coarse sexual, because it is a commonplace that the un- 
conscious shelters coitus wishes, the discovery of which 
signifies nothing further. The coitus wish under this 
aspect is really a symbol for the individual demonstration 
of the libido separated from the parents, of the conquest 


of an independent life. This step towards a new life 
means, at the same time, the death of the past life. 48 
Therefore, Chiwantopel is the infantile hero 49 (the son, 
the child, the lamb, the fish) who is still enchained by 
the fetters of childhood and who has to die as a symbol 
of the incestuous libido, and with that sever the retro- 
gressive bond. For the entire libido is demanded for 
the battle of life, and there can be no remaining behind. 
The dreamer cannot yet come to this decision, which will 
tear aside all the sentimental connections with father 
and mother, and yet it must be made in order to follow 
the call of the individual destiny. 


AFTER the disappearance of the assailant, Chiwantopel 
begins the following monologue : 

" From the extreme ends of these continents, from the farthest 
lowlands, after having forsaken the palace of my father, I have 
been wandering aimlessly during a hundred moons, always pur- 
sued by my mad desire to find ' her who will understand.' With 
jewels I have tempted many fair ones, with kisses I have tried 
to snatch the secret of their hearts, with acts of bravery I have 
conquered their admiration. (He reviews the women he has 
known.) Chita, the princess of my race . . . she is a little fool, 
vain as a peacock, having nought in her head but jewels and 
perfume. Ta-nan, the young peasant, . . . bah, a mere sow, no 
more than a breast and a stomach, caring only for pleasure. And 
then Ki-ma, the priestess, a true parrot, repeating hollow phrases 
learnt from the priests; all for show, without real education or 
sincerity, suspicious poseur and hypocrite! . . . Alas! Not one 
who understands me, not one who resembles me, not one who 
has a soul sister to mine. There is not one among them all who 
has known my soul, not one who could read my thought; far 
from it; not one capable of seeking with me the luminous sum- 
mits, or of spelling with me the superhuman word, love." 

Here Chiwantopel himself says that his journeying and 
wandering is a quest for that other, and for the meaning 
of life which lies in union with her. In the first part of 
this work we merely hinted gently at this possibility. The 
fact that the seeker is masculine and the sought-for of 



feminine sex is not so astonishing, because the chief object 
of the unconscious transference is the mother, as has 
probably been seen from that which we have already 
learned. The daughter takes a male attitude towards the 
mother. The genesis of this adjustment can only be sus- 
pected in our case, because objective proof is lacking. 
Therefore, let us rather be satisfied with inferences. 
" She who will understand " means the mother, in the in- 
fantile language. At the same time, it also means the life 
companion. As is well known, the sex contrast concerns 
the libido but little. The sex of the object plays a sur- 
prisingly slight role in the estimation of the unconscious. 
The object itself, taken as an objective reality, is but of 
slight significance. (But it is of greatest importance 
whether the libido is transferred or introverted.) The 
original concrete meaning of erfassen, " to seize," 
begreifen, " to touch," etc., allows us to recognize clearly 
the under side of the wish to find a congenial person. 
But the u upper " intellectual half is also contained in it, 
and is to be taken into account at the same time. One 
might be inclined to assume this tendency if it were not 
that our culture abused the same, for the misunderstood 
woman has become almost proverbial, which can only be 
the result of a wholly distorted valuation. On the one 
side, our culture undervalues most extraordinarily the im- 
portance of sexuality; on the other side, sexuality breaks 
out as a direct result of the repression burdening it at 
every place where it does not belong, and makes use of 
such an indirect manner of expression that one may ex- 
pect to meet it suddenly almost anywhere. Thus the 


idea of the intimate comprehension of a human soul, 
which is in reality something very beautiful and pure, is 
soiled and disagreeably distorted through the entrance 
of the indirect sexual meaning. 1 The secondary meaning 
or, better expressed, the misuse, which repressed and 
denied sexuality forces upon the highest soul functions, 
makes it possible, for example, for certain of our oppo- 
nents to scent in psychoanalysis prurient erotic confes- 
sionals. These are subjective wish-fulfilment deliria 
which need no contra arguments. This misuse makes the 
wish to be " understood " highly suspicious, if the natural 
demands of life have not been fulfilled. Nature has first 
claim on man; only long afterwards does the luxury of 
intellect come. The mediaeval ideal of life for the sake 
of death needs gradually to be replaced by a natural con- 
ception of life, in which the normal demands of men are 
thoroughly kept in mind, so that the desires of the animal 
sphere may no longer be compelled to drag down into 
their service the high gifts of the intellectual sphere in 
order to find an outlet. We are inclined, therefore, to 
consider the dreamer's wish for understanding, first of 
all, as a repressed striving towards the natural destiny. 
This meaning coincides absolutely with psychoanalytic 
experience, that there are countless neurotic people who 
apparently are prevented from experiencing life because 
they have an unconscious and often also a conscious re- 
pugnance to the sexual fate, under which they imagine 
all kinds of ugly things. There is only too great an in- 
clination to yield to this pressure of the unconscious sexu- 
ality and to experience the dreaded (unconsciously hoped 


for) disagreeable sexual experience, so as to acquire by 
that means a legitimately founded horror which retains 
them more surely in the infantile situation. This is the 
reason why so many people fall into that very state 
towards which they have the greatest abhorrence. 

That we were correct in our assumption that, in Miss 
Miller, it is a question of the battle for independence 
is shown by her statement that the hero's departure from 
his father's house reminds her of the fate of the young 
Buddha, who likewise renounced all luxury to which he 
was born in order to go out into the world to live out 
his destiny to its completion. Buddha gave the same 
heroic example as did Christ, who separated from his 
mother, and even spoke bitter words (Matthew, chap. 
x, v. 34) : 

" Think not that I am come to send peace on earth : I came 
not to send peace, but a sword. 

(35) "For I am come to set a man at variance against his 
father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter- 
in-law against her mother-in-law. 

(36) " And a man's foes shall be they of his own household. 

(37) " He that loveth father or mother more than me is not 
worthy of me." 

Or Luke, chap, xii, v. 5 1 : 

" Suppose ye that I am come to give peace on earth ? I tell you, 
Nay: but rather division. 

(52) "For from henceforth there shall be five in one house 
divided, three against two, and two against three. 

(53) " The father shall be divided against the son, and the son 
against the father; the mother against the daughter, and the 
daughter against the mother; the mother-in-law against the 


daughter-in-law, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in- 

Horus snatched from his mother her head adornment, 
the power. Just as Adam struggled with Lilith, so he 
struggles for power. Nietzsche, in " Human, All Too 
Human/' expressed the same in very beautiful words: 

" One may suppose that a mind, in which the * type of free 
mind ' is to ripen and sweeten at maturity, has had its decisive 
crisis in a great detachment, so that before this time it was just 
so much the more a fettered spirit and appeared chained for- 
ever to its corner and its pillar. 2 What binds it most firmly? 
What cords are almost untearable? Among human beings of a 
high and exquisite type, it would be duties: that reverence, which 
is suitable for youth, that modesty and tenderness for all the old 
honored and valued things, that thankfulness for the earth from 
which they grew, for the hand which guided them, for the shrine 
where they learnt to pray: their loftiest moments themselves 
come to bind them the firmest, to obligate them the most perma- 
nently. The great detachment comes suddenly for people so 

" ' Better to die than to live here,' thus rings the imperative 
voice of seduction: and this here, this * at home ' is all, that it (the 
soul) has loved until now! A sudden terror and suspicion against 
that which it has loved, a lightning flash of scorn towards that 
which is called ' duty,' a rebellious, arbitrary, volcanic, impelling 
desire for travelling, for strange countries, estrangements, cool- 
ness, frigidity, disillusionments, a hatred of love, perhaps a sacri- 
legious touch and glance backwards 3 there where just now it 
adored and loved, perhaps a blush of shame over what it has just 
done, and at the same time an exultation over having done it, an 
intoxicating internal joyous thrill, in which a victory reveals itself 
a victory? Over what? Over whom? An enigmatic, doubt- 
ful, questioning victory, but the first triumph. Of such woe and 
pain is formed the history of the great detachment. It is like a 
disease which can destroy men, this first eruption of strength 
and will towards self-assertion." 4 


The danger lies, as is brilliantly expressed by Nietzsche, 
in isolation in one's self: 

" Solitude surrounds and embraces him ever more threatening, 
ever more constricting, ever more heart-strangling, the terrible 
Goddess and Mater saeva cupidinum." 

The libido taken away from the mother, who is aban- 
doned only reluctantly, becomes threatening as a serpent, 
the symbol of death, for the relation to the mother must 
cease, must die, which itself almost causes man's death. 
In " Mater saeva cupidinum " the idea attains rare, almost 
conscious, perfection. 

I do not presume to try to paint in better words than 
has Nietzsche the psychology of the wrench from child- 

Miss Miller furnishes us with a further reference to 
a material which has influenced her creation in a more 
general manner; this is the great Indian epic of Long- 
fellow, " The Song of Hiawatha." 

If my readers have had patience to read thus far, and 
to reflect upon what they have read, they frequently must 
have wondered at the number of times I introduce for 
comparison such apparently foreign material and how 
often I widen the base upon which Miss Miller's crea- 
tions rest. Doubts must often have arisen whether it is 
justifiable to enter into important discussions concerning 
the psychologic foundations of myths, religions and cul- 
ture in general on the basis of such scanty suggestions. 
It might be said that behind the Miller phantasies such a 


thing is scarcely to be found. I need hardly emphasize 
the fact that I, too, have sometimes been in doubt. I 
had never read " Hiawatha " until, in the course of my 
work, I came to this part. " Hiawatha, " a poetical com- 
pilation of Indian myths, gives me, however, a justifica- 
tion for all preceding reflections, because this epic con- 
tains an unusual number of mythologic problems. This 
fact is probably of great importance for the wealth of 
suggestions in the Miller phantasies. We are, therefore, 
compelled to obtain an insight into this epic. 

Nawadaha sings the songs of the epic of the hero 
Hiawatha, the friend of man : 

" There he sang of Hiawatha, 
Sang the songs of Hiawatha, 
Sang his wondrous birth and being, 
How he prayed and how he fasted, 
How he lived and toiled and suffered, 
That the tribes of men might prosper, 
That he might advance his people." 

The teleological meaning of the hero, as that symbolic 
figure which unites in itself libido in the form of admira- 
tion and adoration, in order to lead to higher sublima- 
tions by way of the symbolic bridges of the myths, is 
anticipated here. Thus we become quickly acquainted 
with Hiawatha as a savior, and are prepared to hear all 
that which must be said of a savior, of his marvellous 
birth, of his early great deeds, and his sacrifice for his 

The first song begins with a fragment of evangelism: 
Gitche Manito, the " master of life," tired of the quarrels 


of his human children, calls his people together and makes 
known to them the joyous message : 

" I will send a prophet to you, 
A Deliverer of the nations, 
Who shall guide you and shall teach you, 
Who shall toil and suffer with you. 
If you listen to his counsels, 
You will multiply and prosper. 
If his warnings pass unheeded, 
You will fade away and perish ! " 

Gitche Manito, the Mighty, " the creator of the na- 
tions/' is represented as he stood erect " on the great Red 
Pipestone quarry." 

" From his footprints flowed a river, 
Leaped into the light of morning, 
O'er the precipice plunging downward 
Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet." 

The water flowing from his footsteps sufficiently 
proves the phallic nature of this creator. I refer to the 
earlier utterances concerning the phallic and fertilizing 
nature of the horse's foot and the horse's steps, and espe- 
cially do I recall Hippocrene and the foot of Pegasus. 5 
We meet with the same idea in Psalm Ixv, vv. 9 to 1 1 : 

" Thou visitest the earth, and waterest it; thou makest it very 

" The river of God is full of water; thou preparest their corn, 
for so thou providest for the earth. 

"Thou waterest her furrows: thou sendest rain into the little 
valleys thereof; thou makest it soft with the drops of rain, and 
blessest the increase of it. 

"Thou crownest the year with thy goodness; and thy paths 
drop fatness." 


Wherever the fertilizing God steps, there is fruitful- 
ness. We already have spoken of the symbolic meaning 
of treading in discussing the nightmares. Kaineus passes 
into the depths, " splitting the earth with a foot out- 
stretched." Amphiaraus, another chthonic hero, sinks 
into the earth, which Zeus has opened for him by a stroke 
of lightning. (Compare with that the above-mentioned 
vision of a hysterical patient, who saw a black horse after 
a flash of lightning: identity of horse's footstep and flash 
of lightning.) By means of a flash of lightning heroes 
were made immortal. 6 Faust attained the mothers when 
he stamped his foot. 

" Stamp and descend, stamping thou'lt rise again." 

The heroes in the sun-devouring myths often stamp at 
or struggle in the jaws of the monster. Thus Tor 
stamped through the ship's bottom in battle with the 
monster, and went as far as the bottom of the sea. 
(Kaineus.) (Concerning "kicking" as an infantile 
phantasy, see above.) The regression of the libido to 
the presexual stage makes this preparatory action of 
treading either a substitution for the coitus phantasy or 
for the phantasy of re-entrance into the mother's womb. 
The comparison of water flowing from the footsteps with 
a comet is a light symbolism for the fructifying moisture 
(sperma). According to an observation by Humboldt 
(Kosmos), certain South American Indian tribes call the 
meteors " urine of the stars." Mention is also made of 
how Gitche Manito makes fire. He blows upon a forest, 
so that the trees, rubbing upon each other, burst into 


flame. This demon is, therefore, an excellent libido sym- 
bol; he also produced fire. 

After this prologue in the second song, the hero's pre- 
vious history is related. The great warrior, Mudjekeewis 
(Hiawatha's father), has cunningly overcome the great 
bear, " the terror of the nations," and stolen from him 
the magic " belt of wampum," a girdle of shells. Here 
we meet the motive of the " treasure attained with diffi- 
culty," which the hero rescues from the monster. Who 
the bear is, is shown by the poet's comparisons. Mudje- 
keewis strikes the bear on his head after he has robbed 
him of the treasure. 

" With the heavy blow bewildered 
Rose the great Bear of the mountains, 
But his knees beneath him trembled, 
And he whimpered like a woman." 

Mudjekeewis said derisively to him: 

" Else you would not cry, and whimper, 
Like a miserable woman! 

But you, Bear! sit here and whimper, 
And disgrace your tribe by crying, 
Like a wretched Shaugodaya, 
Like a cowardly old woman!" 

These three comparisons with a woman are to be 
found near each other on the same page. Mudjekeewis 
has, like a true hero, once more torn life from the jaws 
of death, from the all-devouring " terrible mother." 
This deed, which, as we have seen, is also represented as 


a journey to hell, u night journey through the sea," the 
conquering of the monster from within, signifies at the 
same time entrance into the mother's womb, a rebirth, 
the results of which are perceptible also for Mudjekeewis. 
As in the Zosimos vision, here too the entering one be- 
comes the breath of the wind or spirit. Mudjekeewis 
becomes the west wind, the fertilizing breath, the father 
of winds. 7 His sons become the other winds. An inter- 
mezzo tells of them and of their love stories, of which I 
will mention only the courtship of Wabuns, the East 
Wind, because here the erotic wooing of the wind is pic- 
tured in an especially beautiful manner. Every morning 
he sees a beautiful girl in a meadow, whom he eagerly 
courts : 

" Every morning, gazing earthward, 
Still the first thing he beheld there 
Was her blue eyes looking at him, 
Two blue lakes among the rushes." 

The comparison with water is not a matter of sec- 
ondary importance, because " from wind and water " 
shall man be born anew. 

" And he wooed her with caresses, 
Wooed her with his smile of sunshine, 
With his flattering words he wooed her, 
With his sighing and his singing, 
Gentlest whispers in the branches, 
Softest music, sweetest odors," etc. 

In these onomatopoetic verses the wind's caressing 
courtship is excellently expressed. 8 


The third song presents the previous history of 
Hiawatha's mother. His grandmother, when a maiden, 
lived in the moon. There she once swung upon a liana, 
but a jealous lover cut off the liana, and Nokomis, 
Hiawatha's grandmother, fell to earth. The people, who 
saw her fall downwards, thought that she was a shooting 
star. This marvellous descent of Nokomis is more 
plainly illustrated by a later passage of this same song; 
there little Hiawatha asks the grandmother what is the 
moon. Nokomis teaches him about it as follows: The 
moon is the body of a grandmother, whom a warlike 
grandson has cast up there in wrath. Hence the moon is 
the grandmother. In ancient beliefs, the moon is also 
the gathering place of departed souls, 9 the guardian of 
seeds; therefore, once more a place of the origin of life 
of predominantly feminine significance. The remarkable 
thing is that Nokomis, falling upon the earth, gave birth 
to a daughter, Wenonah, subsequently the mother of 
Hiawatha. The throwing upwards of the mother, and 
her falling down and bringing forth, seems to contain 
something typical in itself. Thus a story of the seven- 
teenth century relates that a mad bull threw a pregnant 
woman as high as a house, and tore open her womb, and 
the child fell without harm upon the earth. On account 
of his wonderful birth, this child was considered a hero 
or doer of miracles, but he died at an early age. The 
belief is widespread among lower savages that the sun is 
feminine and the moon masculine. Among the Namaqua, 
a Hottentot tribe, the opinion is prevalent that the sun 
consists of transparent bacon. 


" The people, who journey on boats, draw it down by magic 
every evening, cut off a suitable piece and then give it a kick so 
that it flies up again into the sky" Waltz: " Anthropologie," 
II, 342. 

The infantile nourishment comes from the mother. In 
the Gnostic phantasies we come across a legend of the 
origin of man which possibly belongs here: the female 
archons bound to the vault of Heaven are unable, on 
account of its quick rotation, to keep their young within 
them, but let them fall upon the earth, from which men 
arise. Possibly there is here a connection with barbaric 
midwifery, the letting fall of the parturient. The assault 
upon the mother is already introduced with the adventure 
of Mudjekeewis, and is continued in the violent handling 
of the " grandmother," Nokomis, who, as a result of the 
cutting of the liana and the fall downwards, seems in 
some way to have become pregnant. The " cutting of 
the branch," the plucking, we have already recognized as 
mother incest. (See above.) That well-known verse, 
" Saxonland, where beautiful maidens grow upon trees," 
and phrases like " picking cherries in a neighbor's gar- 
den," allude to a similar idea. The fall downwards of 
Nokomis deserves to be compared to a poetical figure in 

" A star, a star is falling 

Out of the glittering sky! 
The star of Love! I watch it 
Sink in the depths and die. 

" The leaves and buds are falling 
From many an apple-tree; 


I watch the mirthful breezes 
Embrace them wantonly . . ." 

Wenonah later was courted by the caressing West 
Wind, and becomes pregnant. Wenonah, as a young 
moon-goddess, has the beauty of the moonlight. Nokomis 
warns her of the dangerous courtship of Mudjekeewis, the 
West Wind. But Wenonah allows herself to become in- 
fatuated, and conceives from the breath of the wind, 
from the Ttvevpa, a son, our hero. 

" And the West- Wind came at evening, 

Found the beautiful Wenonah, 

Lying there amid the lilies, 

Wooed her with his words of sweetness, 

Wooed her with his soft caresses, 

Till she bore a son in sorrow, 

Bore a son of love and sorrow." 

Fertilization through the breath of the spirit is already 
a well-known precedent for us. The star or comet 
plainly belongs to the birth scene as a libido symbol ; No- 
komis, too, conies to earth as a shooting star. Morike's 
sweet poetic phantasy has devised a similar divine origin. 

" And she who bore me in her womb, 
And gave me food and clothing. 
She was a maid a wild, brown maid, 
Who looked on men with loathing. 

" She fleered at them and laughed out loud, 

And bade no suitor tarry ; 
* I'd rather be the Wind's own bride 
Than have a man and marry.' 


" Then came the Wind and held her fast 

His captive, love-enchanted ; 
And lo, by him a merry child 
Within her womb was planted." 

Buddha's marvellous birth story, retold by Sir Edwin 
Arnold, also shows traces of this. 10 

" Maya, the Queen . . . 

Dreamed a strange dream, dreamed that a star from heaven 
Splendid, six-rayed, in color rosy-pearl, 
Whereof the token was an Elephant 
Six-tusked and white as milk of Kamadhuk 
Shot through the void ; and shining into her, 
Entered her womb upon the right." " 

During Maya's conception a wind blows over the land : 

" A wind blew 
With unknown freshness over lands and seas." 

After the birth the four genii of the East, West, South 
and North come to render service as bearers of the 
palanquin. (The coming of the wise men at Christ's 
birth.) We also find here a distinct reference to the 
" four winds." For the completion of the symbolism 
there is to be found in the Buddha myth, as well as in 
the birth legend of Christ, besides the impregnation by 
star and wind, also the fertilization by an animal, here 
an elephant, which with its phallic trunk fulfilled in Maya 
the Christian method of fructification through the ear or 
the head. It is well known that, in addition to the dove, 
the unicorn is also a procreative symbol of the Logos. 

Here arises the question why the birth of a hero always 


had to take place under such strange symbolic circum- 
stances? It might also be imagined that a hero arose 
from ordinary surroundings and gradually grew out of 
his inferior environment, perhaps with a thousand trou- 
bles and dangers. (And, indeed, this motive is by no 
means strange in the hero myth.) It might be said that 
superstition demands strange conditions of birth and gen- 
eration; but why does it demand them? 

The answer to this question is: that the birth of the 
hero, as a rule, is not that of an ordinary mortal, but is 
a rebirth from the mother-spouse; hence it occurs under 
mysterious ceremonies. Therefore, in the very begin- 
ning, lies the motive of the two mothers of the hero. As 
Rank 12 has shown us through many examples, the hero 
is often obliged to experience exposure, and upbringing 
by foster parents, and in this manner he acquires the two 
mothers. A striking example is the relation of Hercules 
to Hera. In the Hiawatha epic Wenonah dies after the 
birth and Nokomis takes her place. Maya dies after the 
birth 13 and Buddha is given a stepmother. The step- 
mother is sometimes an animal (the she-wolf of Romulus 
and Remus, etc.). The twofold mother may be replaced 
by the motive of twofold birth, which has attained a 
lofty significance in the Christian mythology; namely, 
through baptism, which, as we have seen, represents re- 
birth. Thus man is born not merely in a commonplace 
manner, but also born again in a mysterious manner, by 
means of which he becomes a participator of the kingdom 
of God, of immortality. Any one may become a hero 
in this way who is generated anew through his own 


mother, because only through her does he share in im- 
mortality. Therefore, it happened that the death of 
Christ on the cross, which creates universal salvation, was 
understood as "baptism"; that is to say, as rebirth 
through the second mother, the mysterious tree of death. 
Christ says: 

" But I have a baptism to be baptized with: and how am I 
straitened till it be accomplished! " Luke xii: 50. 

He interprets his death agony symbolically as birth 

The motive of the two mothers suggests the thought 
of self-rejuvenation, and evidently expresses the fulfil- 
ment of the wish that it might be possible for the mother 
to bear me again; at the same time, applied to the heroes, 
it means one is a hero who is borne again by her who has 
previously been his mother; that is to say, a hero is he 
who may again produce himself through his mother. 

The countless suggestions in the history of the procrea- 
tion of the heroes indicate the latter formulations. Hia- 
watha's father first overpowered the mother under the 
symbol of the bear; then himself becoming a god, he pro- 
creates the hero. What Hiawatha had to do as hero, 
Nokomis hinted to him in the legend of the origin of the 
moon; he is forcibly to throw his mother upwards (or 
throw downwards?) ; then she would become pregnant 
by this act of violence and could bring forth a daughter. 
This rejuvenated mother would be allotted, according to 
the Egyptian rite, as a daughter-wife to the sun-god, the 
father of his mother, for self-reproduction. What action 


Hiawatha takes in this regard we shall see presently. 
We have already studied the behavior of the pre-Asiatic 
gods related to Christ. Concerning the pre-existence of 
Christ, the Gospel of St. John is full of this thought. 
Thus the speech of John the Baptist: 

" This is he of whom I said, After me cometh a man which is 
preferred before me; for he was before me." John i: 30. 

Also the beginning of the gospel is full of deep mytho- 
logic significance : 

" In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with 
God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning 
with God. 

(3) " All things were made by him, and without him was not 
anything made that was made. 

(4) "In him was life, and the life was the light of men. 

(5) " And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness com- 
prehendeth it not. 

(6) " There was a man sent from God whose name was John. 

(7) "The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the 

(8) " He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of 
that Light. 

(9) " That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that 
cometh into the world." 

This is the proclamation of the reappearing light, the 
reborn sun, which formerly was, and which will be again. 
In the baptistry at Pisa, Christ is represented bringing 
the tree of life to man; his head is surrounded by a sun 
halo. Over this relief stand the words INTROITUS SOLIS. 

Because the one born was his own procreator, the his- 
tory of his procreation is strangely concealed under sym- 


bolic events, which are meant to conceal and deny it; 
hence the extraordinary assertion of the virgin concep- 
tion. This is meant to hide the incestuous impregnation. 
But do not let us forget that this naive assertion plays an 
unusually important part in the ingenious symbolic bridge, 
which is to guide the libido out from the incestuous bond 
to higher and more useful applications, *which indicate a 
new kind of immortality; that is to say, immortal work. 

The environment of Hiawatha's youth is of impor- 
tance : 

" By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea-Water, 
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, 
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
Dark behind it rose the forest, 
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, 
Rose the firs with cones upon them. 
Bright before it beat the water, 
Beat the clear and sunny water, 
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water." 

In this environment Nokomis brought him up. Here 
she taught him the first words, and told him the first fairy 
tales, and the sounds of the water and the wood were 
intermingled, so that the child learned not only to under- 
stand man's speech, but also that of Nature : 

" At the door on summer evenings 
Sat the little Hiawatha; 
Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, 
Heard the lapping of the water, 
Sounds of music, words of wonder: 
1 Minne-wawa! ' 14 said the pine-trees, 
* Mudway-aushka ! ' 15 said the water." 


Hiawatha hears human speech in the sounds of Na- 
ture; thus he understands Nature's speech. The wind 
says, " Wawa." The cry of the wild goose is " Wawa." 
Wah-wah-taysee means the small glowworm which en- 
chants him. Thus the poet paints most beautifully the 
gradual gathering of external nature into the compass of 
the subjective, 16 'and the intimate connection of the pri- 
mary object to which the first lisping words were applied, 
and from which the first sounds were derived, with the 
secondary object, the wider nature which usurps imper- 
ceptibly the mother's place, and takes possession of those 
sounds heard first from the mother, and also of those 
feelings which we all discover later in ourselves in all 
the warm love of Mother Nature. The later blending, 
whether pantheistic-philosophic or aesthetic, of the senti- 
mental, cultured man with nature is, looked at retrospec- 
tively, a reblending with the mother, who was our primary 
object, and with whom we truly were once wholly one. 17 
Therefore, it is not astonishing when we again see 
emerging in the poetical speech of a modern philosopher, 
Karl Joel, the old pictures which symbolize the unity with 
the mother, illustrated by the confluence of subject and 
object. In his recent book, " Seele und Welt" (1912), 
Joel writes as follows, in the chapter called " Primal Ex- 
perience " 18 : 

" I lay on the seashore, the shining waters glittering in my 
dreamy eyes; at a great distance fluttered the soft breeze; throb- 
bing, shimmering, stirring, lulling to sleep comes the wave beat to 
the shore or to the ear? I know not. Distance and nearness 
become blurred into one; without and within glide into each 


other. Nearer and nearer, dearer and more homelike sounds the 
beating of the waves; now, like a thundering pulse in my head it 
strikes, and now it beats over my soul, devours it, embraces it, 
while it itself at the same time floats out like the blue waste of 
waters. Yes, without and within are one. Glistening and foam- 
ing, flowing and fanning and roaring, the entire symphony of the 
stimuli experienced sounds in one tone, all thought becomes one 
thought, which becomes one with feeling; the world exhales in 
the soul and the soul dissolves in the world. Our small life is 
encircled by a great sleep the sleep of our cradle, the sleep of our 
grave, the sleep of our home, from which we go forth in the morn- 
ing, to which we again return in the evening; our life but the 
short journey, the interval between the emergence from the orig- 
inal oneness and the sinking back into it! Blue shimmers the 
infinite sea, wherein dreams the jelly fish of the primitive life, 
toward which without ceasing our thoughts hark back dimly 
through eons of existence. For every happening entails a change 
and a guarantee of the unity of life. At that moment when they 
are no longer blended together, in that instant man lifts his head, 
blind and dripping, from the depths of the stream of experience, 
from the oneness with the experience; at that moment of parting 
when the unity of life in startled surprise detaches the Change 
and holds it away from itself as something alien, at this moment 
of alienation the aspects of the experience have been substantial- 
ized into subject and object, and in that moment consciousness is 


Joel paints here, in unmistakable symbolism, the con- 
fluence of subject and object as the reunion of mother 
and child. The symbols agree with those of mythology, 
even in their details. The encircling and devouring mo- 
tive is distinctly suggested. The sea, devouring the sun 
and giving birth to it anew, is already an old acquaint- 
ance. The moment of the rise of consciousness, the sepa- 
ration of subject and object is a birth; truly philosophical 


thought hangs with lame wings upon the few great primi- 
tive pictures of human speech, above the simple, all-sur- 
passing greatness of which no thought can rise. The idea 
of the jelly fish is not " accidental." Once when I was 
explaining to a patient the maternal significance of water 
at this contact with the mother complex, she experienced 
a very unpleasant feeling. " It makes me squirm," she 
said, " as if I touched a jelly fish." Here, too, the same 
idea ! The blessed state of sleep before birth and after 
death is, as Joel observed, something like old shadowy 
memories of that unsuspecting, thoughtless state of early 
childhood, where as yet no opposition disturbed the peace- 
ful flow of dawning life, to which the inner longing 
always draws us back again and again, and from which 
the active life must free itself anew with struggle and 
death, so that it may not be doomed to destruction. Long 
before Joel, an Indian chieftain had said the same thing 
in similar words to one of the restless wise men: 

" Ah, my brother, you will never learn to know the happiness 
of thinking nothing and doing nothing: this is next to sleep; this 
is the most delightful thing there is. Thus we were before birth, 
thus we shall be after death." 19 

We shall see in Hiawatha's later fate how important 
his early impressions are in his choice of a wife. Hia- 
watha's first deed was to kill a roebuck with his arrow : 

" Dead he lay there in the forest, 
By the 'ford across the river." 

This is typical of Hiawatha's deeds. Whatever he 
kills, for the most part, lies next to or in the water, some- 


times half in the water and half on the land. 20 It seems 
that this must well be so. The later adventures will 
teach us why this must be so. The buck was no ordinary 
animal, but a magic one ; that is to say, one with an addi- 
tional unconscious significance. Hiawatha made for him- 
self gloves and moccasins from its hide; the gloves im- 
parted such strength to his arms that he could crumble 
rocks to dust, and the moccasins had the virtue of the 
seven-league boots. By enwrapping himself in the buck's 
skin he really became a giant. This motive, together with 
the death of the animal at the ford, 21 in the water, re- 
veals the fact that the parents are concerned, whose 
gigantic proportions as compared with the child are of 
great significance in the unconscious. The " toys of 
giants " is a wish inversion of the infantile phantasy. 
The dream of an eleven-year-old girl expresses this : 

" I am as high as a church steeple ; then a policeman comes. I 
tell him, ' If you say anything, I will cut off your head. ' ! 

The " policeman," as the analysis brought out, re- 
ferred to the father, whose gigantic size was over-com- 
pensated by the church steeple. In Mexican human sacri- 
fices, the gods were represented by criminals, who were 
slaughtered, and flayed, and the Corybantes then clothed 
themselves in the bloody skins, in order to illustrate the 
resurrection of the gods. 22 (The snake's casting of his 
skin as a symbol of rejuvenation.) 

Hiawatha has, therefore, conquered his parents, pri- 
marily the mother, although in the form of a male ani- 
mal (compare the bear of Mudjekeewis) ; and from that 


comes his giant's strength. He has taken on the parent's 
skin and now has himself become a great man. Now he 
started forth to his first great battle to fight with the 
father Mudjekeewis, in order to avenge his dead mother 
Wenonah. Naturally, under this figure of speech hides 
the thought that he slays the father, in order to take pos- 
session of the mother. Compare the battle of Gilgamesh 
with the giant Chumbaba and the ensuing conquest of 
Ishtar. The father, in the psychologic sense, merely rep- 
resents the personification of the incest prohibition; that 
is to say, resistance, which defends the mother. Instead 
of the father, it may be a fearful animal (the great bear, 
the snake, the dragon, etc.) which must be fought and 
overcome. The hero is a hero because he sees in every 
difficulty of life resistance to the forbidden treasure, and 
fights that resistance with the complete yearning which 
strives towards the treasure, attainable with difficulty, or 
unattainable, the yearning which paralyzes and kills the 
ordinary man. 

Hiawatha's father is Mudjekeewis, the west wind; the 
battle, therefore, takes place in the west. Thence came 
life (impregnation of Wenonah) ; thence also came 
death (death of Wenonah). Hiawatha, therefore, 
fights the typical battle of the hero for rebirth in the 
western sea, the battle with the devouring terrible 
mother, this time in the form of the father. Mudje- 
keewis, who himself had acquired a divine nature, through 
his conquest of the bear, now is overpowered by his son : 

" Back retreated Mudjekeewis, 
Rushing westward o'er the mountains, 


Stumbling westward down the mountains, 

Three whole days retreated fighting, 

Still pursued by Hiawatha 

To the doorways of the West- Wind, 

To the portals of the Sunset, 

To the earth's remotest border, 

Where into the empty spaces 

Sinks the sun, as a flamingo 

Drops into her nest at nightfall." 

The " three days " are a stereotyped form represent- 
ing the stay in the sea prison of night. (Twenty-first 
until twenty- fourth of December.) Christ, too, remained 
three days in the underworld. " The treasure, difficult 
to attain," is captured by the hero during this struggle 
in the west. In this case the father must make a great 
concession to the son; he gives him divine nature, 23 that 
very wind nature, the immortality of which alone pro- 
tected Mudjekeewis from death. He says to his son: 

" I will share my kingdom with you, 
Ruler shall you be henceforward, 
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, 
Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin." 

That Hiawatha now becomes ruler of the home-wind 
has its close parallel in the Gilgamesh epic, where Gilga- 
mesh finally receives the magic herb from the wise old 
Utnapishtim, who dwells in the West, which brings him 
safe once more over the sea to his home; but this, when 
he is home again, is retaken from him by a serpent. 

When one has slain the father, one can obtain posses- 
sion of his wife, and when one has conquered the mother, 
one can free one's self. 


On the return journey Hiawatha stops at the clever 
arrow-maker's, who possesses a lovely daughter : 

" And he named her from the river, 
From the water-fall he named her, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water." 

When Hiawatha, in his earliest childhood dreaming, 
felt the sounds of water and wind press upon his ears, 
he recognized in these sounds of nature the speech of his 
mother. The murmuring pine trees on the shore of the 
great sea, said " Minnewawa." And above, the murmur- 
ing of the winds and the splashing of the water he found 
his earliest childhood dreams once again in a woman, 
" Minnehaha," the laughing water. And the hero, be- 
fore all others, finds in woman the mother, in order to 
become a child again, and, finally, to solve the riddle of 

The fact that Minnehaha's father is a skilful arrow- 
maker betrays him as the father of the hero (and the 
woman he had with him as the mother). The father of 
the hero is very often a skilful carpenter, or other 
artisan. According to an Arabian legend, Tare, 24 Abra- 
ham's father, was a skilful master workman, who could 
carve arrows from any wood; that is to say, in the 
Arabian form of speech, he was a procreator of splendid 
sons. 25 Moreover, he was a maker of images of gods. 
Tvashtar, Agni's father, is the maker of the world, a 
smith and carpenter, the discoverer of fire-boring. Jo- 
seph, the father of Jesus, was also a carpenter; likewise 
Kinyras, Adonis's father, who is said to have invented 


the hammer, the lever, roofing and mining. Hephaestus, 
the father of Hermes, is an artistic master workman and 
sculptor. In fairy tales, the father of the hero is very 
modestly the traditional wood-cutter. These conceptions 
were also alive in the cult of Osiris. There the divine 
image was carved out of a tree trunk and then placed 
within the hollow of the tree. (Frazer: "Golden 
Bough," Part IV.) In Rigveda, the world was also hewn 
out of a tree by the world-sculptor. The idea that the 
hero is his own procreator 28 leads to the fact that he is 
invested with paternal attributes, and reversedly the he- 
roic attributes are given to the father. In Mani there 
exists a beautiful union of the motives. He accomplishes 
his great labors as a religious founder, hides himself for 
years in a cave, he dies, is skinned, stuffed and hung up 
(hero). Besides he is an artist, and has a crippled foot. 
A similar union of motives is found in Wieland, the 

Hiawatha kept silent about what he saw at the old 
arrow-maker's on his return to Nokomis, and he did 
nothing further to win Minnehaha. But now something 
happened, which, if it were not in an Indian epic, would 
rather be sought in the history of a neurosis. Hiawatha 
introverted his libido; that is to say, he fell into an ex- 
treme resistance against the " real sexual demand " 
(Freud) ; he built a hut for himself in the wood, in order 
to fast there and to experience dreams and visions. For 
the first three days he wandered, as once in his earliest 
youth, through a forest and looked at all the animals 
and plants : 


' Master of life ! ' he cried, desponding, 
' Must our lives depend on these things ? ' ' 

The question whether our lives must depend upon 
" these things " is very strange. It sounds as if life were 
derived from these things; that is to say, from nature 
in general. Nature seems suddenly to have assumed a 
very strange significance. This phenomenon can be ex- 
plained only through the fact that a great amount of 
libido was stored up and now is given to nature. As is 
well known, men of even dull and prosy minds, in the 
springtime of love, suddenly become aware of nature, 
and even make poems about it. But we know that libido, 
prevented from an actual way of transference, always re- 
verts to an earlier way of transference. Minnehaha, the 
laughing water, is so clearly an allusion to the mother 
that the secret yearning of the hero for the mother is 
powerfully touched. Therefore, without having under- 
taken anything, he goes home to Nokomis ; but there again 
he is driven away, because Minnehaha already stands in 
his path. 

He turns, therefore, even further away, into that early 
youthful period, the tones of which recall Minnehaha 
most forcibly to his thoughts, where he learnt to hear 
the mother-sounds in the sounds of nature. In this very 
strange revival of the impressions of nature we recognize 
a regression to those earliest and strongest nature im- 
pressions which stand next to the subsequently extin- 
guished, even stronger, impressions which the child re- 
ceived from the mother. The glamour of this feeling for 
her is transferred to other objects of the childish environ- 


ment (father's house, playthings, etc.), from which later 
those magic blissful feelings proceed, which seem to be 
peculiar to the earliest childish memories. When, there- 
fore, Hiawatha hides himself in the lap of nature, it is 
really the mother's womb, and it is to be expected that he 
will emerge again new-born in some form. 

Before turning to this new creation arising from intro- 
version, there is still a further significance of the pre- 
ceding question to be considered: whether life is de- 
pendent upon " these things " ? Life may depend upon 
these things in the degree that they serve for nourish- 
ment. We must infer in this case that suddenly the ques- 
tion of nutrition came very near the hero's heart. (This 
possibility will be thoroughly proven in what follows.) 
The question of nutrition, indeed, enters seriously into 
consideration. First, because regression to the mother 
necessarily revives that special path of transference; 
namely, that of nutrition through the mother. As soon 
as the libido regresses to the presexual stage, there we 
may expect to see the function of nutrition and its sym- 
bols put in place of the sexual function. Thence is de- 
rived an essential root of the displacement from below 
upwards (Freud), because, in the presexual stage, the 
principal value belongs not to the genitals, but to 
the mouth. Secondly, because the hero fasted, his 
hunger becomes predominant. Fasting, as is well known, 
is employed to silence sexuality; also, it expresses sym- 
bolically the resistance against sexuality, translated into 
the language of the presexual stage. On the fourth day 
of his fast the hero ceased to address himself to nature ; 


he lay exhausted, with half-closed eyes, upon his couch, 
sunk deep in dreams, the picture of extreme introversion. 
We have already seen that, in such circumstances, an 
infantile internal equivalent for reality appears, in the 
place of external life and reality. This is also the case 
with Hiawatha : 

" And he saw a youth approaching, 
Dressed in garments green and yellow, 
Coming through the purple twilight, 
Through the splendor of the sunset ; 
Plumes, of green bent o'er his forehead, 
And his hair was soft and -golden/' 

This remarkable apparition reveals himself in the fol- 
lowing manner to Hiawatha : 

" From the Master of Life descending, 
I, the friend of man, Mondaminj 
Come to warn you and instruct you, 
How by struggle and by labor 
You shall gain what you have prayed for. 
Rise up from your bed of branches ; 
Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me ! " 

Mondamin is the maize: a god, who is eaten, arising 
from Hiawatha's introversion. His hunger, taken in a 
double sense, his longing for the nourishing mother, gives 
birth from his soul to another hero, the edible maize, the 
son of the earth mother. Therefore, he again arises at 
sunset, symbolizing the entrance into the mother, and in 
the western sunset glow he begins again the mystic strug- 
gle with the self-created god, the god who has originated 
entirely from the longing for the nourishing mother. 


The struggle is again the struggle for liberation from this 
destructive and yet productive longing. Mondamin is, 
therefore, equivalent to the mother, and the struggle with 
him means the overpowering and impregnation of the 
mother. This interpretation is entirely proven by a 
myth of the Cherokees, "who invoke it (the maize) 
under the name of * The Old Woman,' in allusion to a 
myth that it sprang from the blood of an old woman 
killed by her disobedient sons ' " : 27 

" Faint with famine, Hiawatha 
Started from his bed of branches, 
From the twilight of his wigwam 
Forth into the flush of sunset 
Came, and wrestled with Mondamin; 
At his touch he felt new courage 
Throbbing in his brain and bosom, 
Felt new life and hope and vigor 
Run through every nerve and fibre." 

The battle at sunset with the god of the maize gives 
Hiawatha new strength; and thus it must be, because the 
fight for the individual depths, against the paralyzing 
longing for the mother, gives creative strength to men. 
Here, indeed, is the source of all creation, but it demands 
heroic courage to fight against these forces and to wrest 
from them the " treasure difficult to attain." He who 
succeeds in this has, in truth, attained the best. Hiawatha 
wrestles with himself for his creation. 28 The struggle 
lasts again the charmed three days. The fourth day, just 
as Mondamin prophesied, Hiawatha conquers him, and 
Mondamin sinks to the ground in death. As Mondamin 


previously desired, Hiawatha digs his grave in mother 
earth, and soon afterwards from this grave the young 
and fresh maize grows for the nourishment of mankind. 
Concerning the thought of this fragment, we have 
therein a beautiful parallel to the mystery of Mithra, 
where first the battle of the hero with his bull occurs. 
Afterwards Mithra carries in " transitus " the bull into 
the cave, where he kills him. From this death all fer- 
tility grows, all that is edible. 29 The cave corresponds 
to the grave. The same idea is represented in the Chris- 
tian mysteries, although generally in more beautiful 
human forms. The soul struggle of Christ in Geth- 
semane, where he struggles with himself in order to com- 
plete his work, then the " transitus, 1 ' the carrying of the 
cross, 30 where he takes upon himself the symbol of the 
destructive mother, and therewith takes himself to the 
sacrificial grave, from which, after three days, he tri- 
umphantly arises ; all these ideas express the same funda- 
mental thoughts. Also, the symbol of eating is not lack- 
ing in the Christian mystery. Christ is a god who is eaten 
in the Lord's Supper. His death transforms him into 
bread and wine, which we partake of in grateful memory 
of his great deed. 31 The relation of Agni to the Soma- 
drink and that of Dionysus to wine 32 must not be omitted 
here. An evident parallel is Samson's rending of the 
lion, and the subsequent inhabitation of the dead lion by 
honey bees, which gives rise to the well-known German 
riddle : 

" Speise ging von dem Fresser und Siissigkeit von dem Starken 
(Food went from the glutton and sweet from the strong)." 33 


In the Eleusinian mysteries these thoughts seem to 
have played a role. Besides Demeter and Persephone* 
lakchos is a chief god of the Eleusinian cult; he was the 
" puer aeternus," the eternal boy, of whom Ovid says the 
following : 

" Tu puer aeternus, tu formosissimus alto 
Conspiceris ccelo tibi, cum sine cornibus astas, 
Virgineum caput est," etc.* 

In the great Eleusinian festival procession the image 
of lakchos was carried. It is not easy to say which god 
is lakchos, possibly a boy, or a new-born son, similar to 
the Etrurian Tages, who bears the surname " the freshly 
ploughed boy," because, according to the myth, he arose 
from the furrow of the field behind the peasant, who was 
ploughing. This idea shows unmistakably the Mondamin 
motive. The plough is of well-known phallic meaning; 
the furrow of the field is personified by the Hindoos as 
woman. The psychology of this idea is that of a coitus, 
referred back to the presexual stage (stage of nutri- 
tion). The son is the edible fruit of the field. lakchos 
passes, in part, as son of Demeter or of Persephone, 
also appropriately as consort of Demeter. (Hero as pro- 
creator of himself.) He is also called tij^ ^rf^rpo<; 
daijjiGov (daiftaov equals libido, also Mother libido.) He 
was identified with Dionysus, especially with the Thracian 
Dionysus-Zagreus, of whom a typical fate of rebirth was 
related. Hera had goaded the Titans against Zagreus, 

*Thou boy eternal, thou most beautiful one seen in the heavens, with- 
out horns standing, with thy virgin head, etc. 


who, assuming many forms, sought to escape them, until 
they finally took him when he had taken on the form of a 
bull. In this form he was killed (Mithra sacrifice) and 
dismembered, and the pieces were thrown into a caul- 
dron; but Zeus killed the Titans by lightning, and swal- 
lowed the still-throbbing heart of Zagreus. Through this 
act he gave him existence once more, and Zagreus as 
lakchos again came forth. 

lakchos carries the torch, the phallic symbol of procrea- 
tion, as Plato testifies. In the festival procession, the 
sheaf of corn, the cradle of lakchos, was carried. 
(\IHVOV, mystica vannus lacchi.) The Orphic legend 34 
relates that lakchos was brought up by Persephone, when, 
after three years' slumber in the XIHVOV,* he awoke. This 
statement distinctly suggests the Mondamin motive. The 
2oth of Boedromion (the month Boedromion lasts from 
about the 5th of September to the 5th of October) is 
called lakchos, in honor of the hero. On the evening 
of this day the great torchlight procession took place on 
the seashore, in which the quest and lament of Demeter 
was represented. The role of Demeter, who, seeking 
her daughter, wanders over the whole earth without food 
or drink, has been taken over by Hiawatha in the Indian 
epic. He turns to all created things without obtaining an 
answer. As Demeter first learns of her daughter from 
the subterranean Hecate, so does Hiawatha first find the 
one sought for, Mondamin, 35 in the deepest introversion 
(descent to the mother). Hiawatha produces from him- 
self, Mondamin, as a mother produces the son. The 

* A winnowing fan used as cradle. 


longing for the mother also includes the producing 
mother (first devouring, then birth-giving). Concern- 
ing the real contents of the mysteries, we learn through 
the testimony of Bishop Asterius, about 390 A.D., the 
following : 

" Is not there (in Eleusis) the gloomiest descent, and the most 
solemn communion of the hierophant and the priestess; between 
him and her alone? Are the torches not extinguished, and does 
not the vast multitude regard as their salvation that which takes 
place between the two in the darkness? " 

That points undoubtedly to a ritual marriage, which was 
celebrated subterraneously in mother earth. The Priest- 
ess of Demeter seems to be the representative of the earth 
goddess, perhaps the furrow of the field. 37 The descent 
into the earth is also the symbol of the mother's womb, 
and was a widespread conception under the form of 
cave worship. Plutarch relates of the Magi that they 
sacrificed to Ahriman, ezV ronov dvfaiov.* Lukian lets 
the magician Mithrobarzanes si? xP^ or spripov noil 
vXdodez nal dvrfXiov 9 \ descend into the bowels of the earth. 
According to the testimony of Moses of the Koran, the 
sister Fire and the brother Spring were worshipped in 
Armenia in a cave. Julian gave an account from the 
Attis legend of a Harafiaffi? e is avrpov,\ from whence 
Cybele brings up her son lover, that is to say, gives birth 
to him. 38 The cave of Christ's birth, in Bethlehem 
(' House of Bread'), is said to have been an Attis 

* In a sunless place. 

t Descend into a sunless desert place. 

J Descent into a cave. 


A further Eleusinian symbolism is found in the festival 
of Hierosgamos, in the form of the mystic chests, which, 
according to the testimony of Clemens of Alexandria, 
may have contained pastry, salt and fruits. The synthema 
(confession) of the mystic transmitted by Clemens is sug- 
gestive in still other directions : 

" I have fasted, I have drunk of the barleydrink, I have taken 
from the chest and after I have labored, I have placed it back in 
the basket, and from the basket into the chest." 

The question as to what lay in the chest is explained 
in detail by Dieterich. 39 The labor he considers a phallic 
activity, which the mystic has to perform. In fact, rep- 
resentations of the mystic basket are given, wherein lies 
a phallus surrounded by fruits. 40 Upon the so-called 
Lovatelli tomb vase, the sculptures of which are under- 
stood to be Eleusinian ceremonies, it is shown how a 
mystic caressed the serpent entwining Demeter. The 
caressing of the fear animal indicates a religious conquer- 
ing of incest. 41 According to the testimony of Clemens of 
Alexandria, a serpent was in the chest. The serpent in 
this connection is naturally of phallic nature, the phallus 
which is forbidden in relation to the mother. Rohde 
mentions that in the Arrhetophories, pastry, in the form 
of phalli and serpents, were thrown into the cave near 
the Thesmophorion. This custom was a petition for the 
bestowal of children and harvest. 42 The snake also plays 
a large part in initiations under the remarkable title 
6 Sia Ho\nov Qeos. * Clemens observes that the symbol 

* He who achieved divinity through the womb. 


of the Sabazios mysteries is o 8ia HO\TCQSV 6eos, 

$ effTl KOLl OVTO? Sl^HO^SrO? TOV HO\7COV T&V 

Through Arnobius we learn: 

" Aureus coluber in sinum demittitur consecratis et eximitur 
rursus ab inferioribus partibus atque imis." f 

In the Orphic Hymn 52, Bacchus is invoked by 
vit ond \rtte which indicates that the god enters into 
man as if through the female genitals. 43 According to 
the testimony of Hippolytus, the hierophant in the mys- 
tery exclaimed ispov ersne norvia novpov, BpifjLco flpijAor 
(the revered one has brought forth a holy boy, Brimos 
from Brimo). This Christmas gospel, u Unto us a son 
is born," is illustrated especially through the tradition 44 
that the Athenians " secretly show to the partakers in 
the Epoptia, the great and wonderful and most perfect 
Epoptic mystery, a mown stalk of wheat." 45 

The parallel for the motive of death and resurrection 
is the motive of losing and finding. The motive appears 
in religious rites in exactly the same connection, namely, 
in spring festivities similar to the Hierosgamos, where 
the image of the god was hidden and found again. It is 
an uncanonical tradition that Moses left his father's 
house when twelve years old to teach mankind. In a 
similar manner Christ is lost by his parents, and they 
find him again as a teacher of wisdom, just as in the Mo- 

* He who achieved divinity through the womb; he is a serpent, and he 
was drawn through the womb of those who were being initiated. 

t The golden serpent is crowded into the breast of the initiates and is 
then drawn out through the lowest parts. 

$ O Foetus, he who is in the vagina or womb. 


hammedan legend Moses and Joshua lose the fish, and 
in his place Chidher, the teacher of wisdom, appears 
(like the boy Jesus in the temple) ; so does the corn god, 
lost and believed to be dead, suddenly arise again from 
his mother into renewed youth. (That Christ was laid 
in the manger is suggestive of fodder. Robertson, there- 
fore, places the manger as parallel to the liknon.) 

We understand from these accounts why the Eleusin- 
ian mysteries were for the mystic so rich in comfort for 
the hope of a better world. A beautiful Eleusinian epi- 
taph shows this : 

" Truly, a beautiful secret is proclaimed by the blessed Gods! 
Mortality is not a curse, but death a blessing! " 

The hymn to Demeter 46 in the mysteries also says the 

" Blessed is he, the earth-born man, who hath seen this! 
Who hath not shared in these divine ceremonies, 
He hath an unequal fate in the obscure darkness of death." 

Immortality is inherent in the Eleusinian symbol; in a 
church song of the nineteenth century by Samuel Preis- 
werk we discover it again : 

" The world is yours, Lord Jesus, 
The world, on which we stand, 
Because it is thy world 
It cannot perish. 
Only the wheat, before it comes 
Up to the light in its fertility, 
Must die in the bosom of the earth 
First freed from its own nature. 


" Thou goest, O Lord, our chief, 
To heaven through thy sorrows, 
And guide him who believes 
In thee on the same path. 
Then take us all equally 
To share in thy sorrows and kingdoms, 
Guide us through thy gate of death, 
Bring thy world into the light." 

Firmicus relates concerning the Attis mysteries : 

" Nocte quadam simulacrum in lectica supinum ponitur et per 
numeros digestis fletibus plangitur; deinde cum se ficta lamenta- 
tione satiaverint, lumen infertur: tune a sacerdote omnium qui 
flebant fauces unguentur, quibus perunctis sacerdos hoc lento mur- 
mure SUSUrrat: 'Oappetre fivarai rov Qeov oeauofievov earai yap r^uv tK. ndvov 

Such parallels show how little human personality and 
how much divine, that is to say, universally human, is 
found in the Christ mystery. No man is or, indeed, ever 
was, a hero, for the hero is a god, and, therefore, im- 
personal and generally applicable to all. Christ is a 
" spirit," as is shown in the very early Christian inter- 
pretation. In different places of the earth, and in the 
most varied forms and in the coloring of various periods, 
the Savior-hero appears as a fruit of the entrance of the 
libido into the personal maternal depths. The Bacchian 
consecrations represented upon the Farnese relief contain 

* On a certain night an image is placed lying down in a litter; there 
is weeping and lamentations among the people, with beatings of bodies 
and tears. After a time, when they have become exhausted from the 
lamentations, a light appears; then the priest anoints the throats of all 
those who were weeping, and softly whispers, " Take courage, O initiates 
of the Redeemed Divinity; you shall achieve salvation through your 


a scene where a mystic wrapped in a mantle, drawn over 
his head, was led to Silen, who holds the "liixvov" 
(chalice), covered with a cloth. The covering of the 
head signifies death. The mystic dies, figuratively, like 
the seed corn, grows again and comes to the corn har- 
vest. Proclus relates that the mystics were buried up to 
their necks. The Christian church as a place of religious 
ceremony is really nothing but the grave of a hero (cata- 
combs). The believer descends into the grave, in order 
to rise from the dead with the hero. That the meaning 
underlying the church is that of the mother's womb can 
scarcely be doubted. The symbols of Mass are so dis- 
tinct that the mythology of the sacred act peeps out 
everywhere. It is the magic charm of rebirth. The ven- 
eration of the Holy Sepulchre is most plain in this re- 
spect. A striking example is the Holy Sepulchre of St. 
Stefano in Bologna. The church itself, a very old polyg- 
onal building, consists of the remains of a temple to Isis. 
The interior contains an artificial spelaeum, a so-called 
Holy Sepulchre, into which one creeps through a very 
little door. After a long sojourn, the believer reappears 
reborn from this mother's womb. An Etruscan ossuarium 
in the archaeological museum in Florence is at the same 
time a statue of Matuta, the goddess of death; the clay 
figure of the goddess is hollowed within as a receptacle 
for the ashes. The representations indicate that Matuta 
is the mother. Her chair is adorned with sphinxes, as a 
fitting symbol for the mother of death. 

Only a few of the further deeds of Hiawatha can in- 
terest us here. Among these is the battle with Mishe- 



Nahma, the fish-king, in the eighth song. This deserves 
to be mentioned as a typical battle of the sun-hero. 
Mishe-Nahma is a fish monster, who dwells at the bottom 
of the waters. Challenged by Hiawatha to battle, he de- 
vours the hero, together with his boat : 

" In his wrath he darted upward, 
Flashing leaped into the sunshine, 
Opened his great jaws, and swallowed 
Both canoe and Hiawatha. 

" Down into that darksome cavern 
Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, 
As a log on some black river 
Shoots and plunges down the rapids, 
Found himself in utter darkness, 
Groped about in helpless wonder, 
Till he felt a great heart beating, 
Throbbing in that utter darkness. 
And he smote it in his anger, 
With his fist, the heart of Nahma, 
Felt the mighty king of fishes 
Shudder through each nerve and fibre. 

Crosswise then did Hiawatha 
Drag his birch-canoe for safety, 
Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, 
In the turmoil and confusion, 
Forth he might be hurled, and perish." 

It is the typical myth of the work of the hero, dis- 
tributed over the entire world. He takes to a boat, fights 
with the sea monster, is devoured, he defends himself 
against being bitten or crushed 47 (resistance or stamp- 
ing motive) ; having arrived in the interior of the " whale 
dragon," he seeks the vital organ, which he cuts off 


or in some way destroys. Often the death of the 
monster occurs as the result of a fire which the hero 
secretly makes within him ; he mysteriously creates in the 
womb of death life, the rising sun. Thus dies the fish, 
which drifts ashore, where, with the assistance of 
" birds," the hero again attains the light of day. 48 The 
bird in this sense probably means the reascent of the sun, 
the longing of the libido, the rebirth of the phoenix. 
(The longing is very frequently represented by the sym- 
bol of hovering.) The sun symbol of the bird rising from 
the water is (etymologically) contained in the singing 
swan. " Swan " is derived from the root sven, like 
sun and tone. (See the preceding.) This act signifies 
rebirth, and the bringing forth of life from the mother, 49 
and by this means the ultimate destruction of death, 
which, according to a Negro myth, has come into the 
world, through the mistake of an old woman, who, at 
the time of the general casting of skins (for men re- 
newed their youth through casting their skin like 
snakes), drew on, through absent-mindedness, her old 
skin instead of a new one, and as a result died. But the 
effect of such an act could not be of any duration. Again 
and again troubles of the hero are renewed, always under 
the symbol of deliverance from the mother. Just as Hera 
(as the pursuing mother) is the real source of the great 
deeds of Hercules, so does Nokomis allow Hiawatha no 
rest, and raises up new difficulties in his path, in form of 
desperate adventures in which the hero may perhaps con- 
quer, but also, perhaps, may perish. The libido of man- 
kind is always in advance of his consciousness; unless his 

*^*. ^w-5%* .--'. 



libido calls him forth to new dangers he sinks into sloth- 
ful inactivity or, on the other hand, childish longing for 
the mother overcomes him at the summit of his existence, 
and he allows himself to become pitifully weak, instead 
of striving with desperate courage towards the highest. 
The mother becomes the demon, who summons the hero 
to adventure, and who also places in his path the poison- 
ous serpent, which will strike him. Thus Nokomis, in the 
ninth song, calls Hiawatha, points with her hand to the 
west, where the sun sets in purple splendor, and says to 

" Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather, 
Megissogwon, the Magician, 
Manito of Wealth and Wampum, 
Guarded by his fiery serpents, 
Guarded by the black pitch-water. 
You can see his fiery serpents, 
The Kenabeek, the great serpents, 
Coiling, playing in the water." 

This danger lurking in the west is known to mean 
death, which no one, even the mightiest, escapes. This 
magician, as we learn, also killed the father of Nokomis. 
Now she sends her son forth to avenge the father 
(Horus). Through the symbols attributed to the magi- 
cian it may easily be recognized what he symbolizes. 
Snake and water belong to the mother, the snake as a 
symbol of the repressed longing for the mother, or, in 
other words, as a symbol of resistance, encircles protect- 
ingly and defensively the maternal rock, inhabits the cave, 
winds itself upwards around the mother tree and guards 


the precious hoard, the " mysterious " treasure. The 
black Stygian water is, like the black, muddy spring of 
Dhulqarnein, the place where the sun dies and enters into 
rebirth, the maternal sea of death and night. On his 
journey thither Hiawatha takes with him the magic oil 
of Mishe-Nahma, which helps his boat through the waters 
of death. (Also a sort of charm for immortality, like 
the dragon's blood for Siegfried, etc.) 

First, Hiawatha slays the great serpent. Of the 
" night journey in the sea " over the Stygian waters it is 
written : 

" All night long he sailed upon it, 
Sailed upon that sluggish water, 
Covered with its mould of ages, 
Black with rotting water-rushes, 
Rank with flags, and leaves of lilies, 
Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, 
Lighted by the shimmering moonlight 
And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined, 
Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled, 
In their weary night encampments." 

The description plainly shows the character of a water 
of death. The contents of the water point to an already 
mentioned motive, that of encoiling and devouring. It is 
said in the " Key to Dreams of Jagaddeva " : 50 

" Whoever in dreams surrounds his body with bast, creepers or 
ropes, with snake-skins, threads, or tissues, dies." 

I refer to the preceding arguments in regard to this. 
Having come into the west land, the hero challenges the 
magician to battle. A terrible struggle begins. Hia- 


watha is powerless, because Megissogwon is invulner- 
able. At evening Hiawatha retires wounded, despairing 
for a while, in order to rest : 

" Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree, 
From whose branches trailed the mosses, 
And whose trunk was coated over 
With the Dead-man's Moccasin-leather, 
With the fungus white and yellow." 

This protecting tree is described as coated over with 
the moccasin leather of the dead, the fungus. This in- 
vesting of the tree with anthromorphic attributes is also 
an important rite wherever tree worship prevails, as, for 
example, in India, where each village has its sacred tree, 
which is clothed and in general treated as a human being. 
The trees are anointed with fragrant waters, sprinkled 
with powder, adorned with garlands and draperies. Just 
as among men, the piercing of the ears was performed 
as an apotropaic charm against death, so does it occur 
with the holy tree. Of all the trees of India there is none 
more sacred to the Hindoos than the Aswatha (Ficus re- 
ligiosa). It is known to them as Vriksha Raja (king of 
trees), Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesvar live in it, and the 
worship of it is the worship of the triad. Almost every 
Indian village has an Aswatha, 51 etc. This " village 
linden tree," well known to us, is here clearly character- 
ized as the mother symbol; it contains the three gods. 

Hence, when Hiawatha retires to rest under the pine- 
tree, 52 it is a dangerous step, because he resigns himself 
to the mother, whose garment is the garment of death 
(the devouring mother). As in the whale-dragon, the 


hero also in this situation needs a " helpful bird " ; that 
is to say, the helpful animals, which represent the benevo- 
lent parents : 

" Suddenly from the boughs above him 
Sang the Mama, the woodpecker; 
1 Aim your arrows, Hiawatha, 
At the head of Megissogwon, 
Strike the tuft of hair upon it, 
At their roots the long black tresses ; 
There alone can he be wounded.' " 

Now, amusing to relate, Mama hurried to his help. 
It is a peculiar fact that the woodpecker was also the 
" Mama " of Romulus and Remus, who put nourishment 
into the mouths of the twins with his beak. 53 (Compare 
with that the role of the vulture in Leonardo's dream. 
The vulture is sacred to Mars, like the woodpecker.) 
With the maternal significance of the woodpecker, the 
ancient Italian folk-superstition agrees: that from the 
tree upon which this bird nested any nail which has been 
driven in will soon drop out again. 54 The woodpecker 
owes its special significance to the circumstance that he 
hammers holes into trees. ( u To drive nails in," as 
above!) It is, therefore, understandable that he was 
made much of in the Roman legend as an old king of 
the country, a possessor or ruler of the holy tree, the 
primitive image of the Paterfamilias. An old fable re- 
lates how Circe, the spouse of King Picus, transformed 
him into the Picus Martius, the woodpecker. The sorcer- 
ess is the u new-creating mother," who has u magic in- 
fluence " upon the sun-husband. She kills him, trans- 


forms him into the soul-bird, the unfulfilled wish. Picus 
was also understood as the wood demon and incubus, as 
well as the soothsayer, all of which fully indicate the 
mother libido. 55 Picus was often placed on a par with 
Picumnus by the ancients. Picumnus is the inseparable 
companion of Pilumnus, and both are actually called in- 
fantium dii, " the gods of little children/' Especially it 
was said of Pilumnus that he defended new-born children 
against the destroying attacks of the wood demon, Sil- 
vanus. (Good and bad mother, the motive of the two 

The benevolent bird, a wish thought of .deliverance 
which arises from introversion, 56 advises the hero to shoot 
the magician under the hair, which is the only vulner- 
able spot. This spot is the " phallic " point, 57 if one may 
venture to say so ; it is at the top of the head, at the place 
where the mystic birth from the head takes place, which 
even today appears in children's sexual theories. Into 
that Hiawatha shoots (one may say, very naturally) 
three arrows 58 (the well-known phallic symbol) , and thus 
kills Megissogwon. Thereupon he steals the magic wam- 
pum armor, which renders him invulnerable (means of 
immortality). He significantly leaves the dead lying in 
the water because the magician is the fearful mother : 

" On the shore he left the body, 
Half on land and half in water, 
In the sand his feet were buried, 
And his face was in the water." 

Thus the situation is the same as with the fish king, 
because the monster is the personification of the water 


of death, which in its turn represents the devouring 
mother. This great deed of Hiawatha's, where he has 
vanquished the mother as the death-bringing demon, 59 
is followed by his marriage with Minnehaha. 

A little fable which the poet has inserted in the later 
song is noteworthy. An old man is transformed into a 
youth, by crawling through a hollow oak tree. 

In the fourteenth song is a description of how Hia- 
watha discovers writing. I limit myself to the descrip- 
tion of two hieroglyphic tokens : 

" Gitche Manito the Mighty, 
He, the Master of Life, was painted 
As an egg, with points projecting 
To the four winds of the heavens. 
Everywhere is the Great Spirit, 
Was the meaning of this symbol." 

The world lies in the egg, which encompasses it at 
every point; it is the cosmic woman with child, the sym- 
bol of which Plato as well as the Vedas has made use of. 
This mother is like the air, which is everywhere. But air 
is spirit; the mother of the world is a spirit: 

" Mitche Manito the Mighty, 
He the dreadful Spirit of Evil, 
As a serpent was depicted, 
As Kenabeek, the great serpent." 

But the spirit of evil is fear, is the forbidden desire, 
the adversary who opposes not only each individual heroic 
deed, but life in its struggle for eternal duration as well, 
and who introduces into our body the poison of weak- 


ness and age through the treacherous bite of the serpent. 
It is all that is retrogressive, and as the model of our 
first world is our mother, all retrogressive tendencies are 
towards the mother, and, therefore, are disguised under 
the incest image. 

In both these ideas the poet has represented in mytho- 
logic symbols the libido arising from the mother and 
the libido striving backward towards the mother. 

There is a description in the fifteenth song how Chibia- 
bos, Hiawatha's best friend, the amiable player and singer, 
the embodiment of the joy of life, was enticed by the evil 
spirits into ambush, fell through the ice and was drowned. 
Hiawatha mourns for him so long that he succeeds, with 
the aid of the magician, in calling him back again. But the 
revivified friend is only a spirit, and he becomes master of 
the land of spirits. (Osiris, lord of the underworld; the 
two Dioscuri.) Battles again follow, and then comes the 
loss of a second friend, Kwasind, the embodiment of 
physical strength. 

In the twentieth song occur famine and the death of 
Minnehaha, foretold by two taciturn guests from the 
land of death; and in the twenty-second song Hiawatha 
prepares for a final journey to the west land : 

" I am going, O Nokomis, 
On a long and distant journey, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest-Wind Keewaydin. 

" One long track and trail of splendor, 
Down whose stream, as down a river, 


Westward, westward, Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
Sailed into the purple vapors, 
Sailed into the dusk of evening. 

" Thus departed Hiawatha, 
Hiawatha the Beloved, 
In the glory 9f the sunset, 
In the purple mists of evening, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the land of the Hereafter! " 

The sun, victoriously arising, tears itself away from 
the embrace and clasp, from the enveloping womb of 
the sea, and sinks again into the maternal sea, into night, 
the all-enveloping and the all-reproducing, leaving behind 
it the heights of midday and all its glorious works. This 
image was the first, and was profoundly entitled to be- 
come the symbolic carrier of human destiny; in the morn- 
ing of life man painfully tears himself loose from the 
mother, from the domestic hearth, to rise through battle 
to his heights. Not seeing his worst enemy in front of 
him, but bearing him within himself as a deadly longing 
for the depths within, for drowning in his own source, 
for becoming absorbed into the mother, his life is a con- 
stant struggle with death, a violent and transitory delivery 
from the always lurking night. This death is no external 
enemy, but a deep personal longing for quiet and for the 
profound peace of non-existence, for a dreamless sleep 
in the ebb and flow of the sea of life. Even in his highest 
endeavor for harmony and equilibrium, for philosophic 


depths and artistic enthusiasm, he seeks death, immobil- 
ity, satiety and rest. If, like Peirithoos, he tarries too 
long in this place of rest and peace, he is overcome by 
torpidity, and the poison of the serpent paralyzes him for 
all time. If he is to live he must fight and sacrifice his 
longing for the past, in order to rise to his own heights. 
And having reached the noonday heights, he must also 
sacrifice the love for his own achievement, for he may not 
loiter. The sun also sacrifices its greatest strength in 
order to hasten onwards to the fruits of autumn, which 
are the seeds of immortality; fulfilled in children, in 
works, in posthumous fame, in a new order of things, all 
of which in their turn begin and complete the sun's 
course over again. 

The " Song of Hiawatha " contains, as these extracts 
show, a material which is very well adapted to bring into 
play the abundance of ancient symbolic possibilities, 
latent in the human mind, and to stimulate it to the creation 
of mythologic figures. But the products always contain the 
same old problems of humanity, which rise again and again 
in new symbolic disguise from the shadowy world of the 
unconscious. Thus Miss Miller is reminded through the 
longing of Chiwantopel, of another mythic cycle which 
appeared in the form of Wagner's " Siegfried." Espe- 
cially is this shown in the passage in Chiwantopel's mono- 
logue, where he exclaims, " There is not one who under- 
stands me, not One who resembles me, not one who has a 
soul sister to mine." Miss Miller observes that the 
sentiment of this passage has the greatest analogy with 
the feelings which Siegfried experienced for Brunhilde. 


This analogy causes us to cast a glance at the song of 
Siegfried, especially at the relation of Siegfried and 
Brunhilde. It is a well-recognized fact that Brunhilde, 
the Valkyr, gives protection to the birth (incestuous) 
of Siegfried, but while Sieglinde is the human mother, 
Brunhilde has the role of " spiritual mother " (mother- 
imago) ; however, unlike Hera towards Hercules, she is 
not a pursuer, but benevolent. This sin, in which she is 
an accomplice, by means of the help she renders, is the 
reason for her banishment by Wotan. The strange birth 
of Siegfried from the sister-wife distinguishes him as 
Horus, as the reborn son, a reincarnation of the retreat- 
ing Osiris Wotan. The birth of the young son, of the 
hero, results, indeed, from mankind, who, however, are 
merely the human bearers of the cosmic symbolism. Thus 
the birth is protected by the spirit mother (Hera, Lilith) : 
she sends Sieglinde with the child in her womb (Mary's 
flight) on the " night journey on the sea " to the east: 

" Onward, hasten ; 
Turn to the East. 

O woman, thou cherishest 
The sublimest hero of the world 
In thy sheltering womb." 

The motive of dismemberment is found again in the 
broken sword of Siegmund, which was kept for Sieg- 
fried. From the dismemberment life is pieced together 
again. (The Medea wonder.) Just as a smith forges 
the pieces together, so is the dismembered dead again 
put together. (This comparison is also found in 


" Timaios " of Plato : the parts of the world joined 
together with pegs.) In the Rigveda, 10, 72, the creator 
of the world, Brahmanaspati, is a smith. 

" Brahmanaspati, as a blacksmith, 
Welded the world together." 

The sword has the significance of the phallic sun power; 
therefore, a sword proceeds from the mouth of the 
apocalyptic Christ; that is to say, the procreative fire, the 
word, or the procreative Logos. In Rigveda, Brahmana- 
spati is also a prayer-word, which possessed an ancient 
creative significance : 60 

" And this prayer of the singers, expanding from itself, 
Became a cow, which was already there before the world, 
Dwelling together in the womb of this god, 
Foster-children of the same keeper are the gods." 

Rigveda x: 31. 

The Logos became a cow; that is to say, the mother, 
who is pregnant with the gods. (In Christian uncanoni- 
cal phantasies, where the Holy Ghost has feminine sig- 
nificance, we have the well-known motive of the two 
mothers, the earthly mother, Mary, and the spiritual 
mother, the Holy Ghost.) The transformation of the 
Logos into the mother is not remarkable in itself, because 
the origin of the phenomenon fire-speech seems to be the 
mother-libido, according to the discussion in the earlier 
chapter. The spiritual is the mother-libido. The sig- 
nificance of the sword, in the Sanskrit conception, tejas, 
is probably partly determined by its sharpness, as is 
shown above, in its connection with the libido conception. 


The motive of pursuit (the pursuing Sieglinde, analogous 
to Leto) is not here bound up with the spiritual mother, 
but with Wotan, therefore corresponding to the Linos 
legend, where the father of the wife is also the pursuer. 
Wotan is also the father of Brunhilde. Brunhilde stands 
in a peculiar relation to Wotan. Brunhilde says to 
Wotan : 

" Thou speakest to the will of Wotan 
By telling me what thou wishest: 
Who ... am I 
Were I not thy will?" 

Wot an : 

I take counsel only with myself, 
When I speak with thee . . . 

Brunhilde is also somewhat the " angel of the face," 
that creative will or word, 61 emanating from God, also 
the Logos, which became the child-bearing woman. God 
created the world through his word; that is to say, his 
mother, the woman who is to bring him forth again. 
(He lays his own egg.) This peculiar conception, it 
seems to me, can be explained by assuming that the libido 
overflowing into speech (thought) has preserved its 
sexual character to an extraordinary degree as a result 
of the inherent inertia. In this way the " word " had to 
execute and fulfil all that was denied to the sexual wish; 
namely, the return into the mother, in order to attain 
eternal duration. The " word " fulfils this wish by itself 
becoming the daughter, the wife, the mother of the God, 
who brings him forth anew. 62 


Wagner has this idea vaguely in his mind in Wotan's 
lament over Brunhilde : 

" None as she knew my inmost thought ; 
None knew the source of my will 
As she ; 

She herself was 

The creating womb of my wish ; 
And so now she has broken 
The blessed union ! " 

Brunhilde's sin is the favoring of Siegmund, but, be- 
hind this, lies incest: this is projected into the brother- 
sister relation of Siegmund and Sieglinde ; in reality, and 
archaically expressed, Wotan, the father, has entered into 
his self-created daughter, in order to rejuvenate himself. 
But this fact must, of course, be veiled. Wotan is rightly 
indignant with Brunhilde, for she has taken the Isis role 
and through the birth of the son has deprived the old 
man of his power. The first attack of the death ser- 
pent in the form of the son, Siegmund, Wotan has re- 
pelled; he has broken Siegmund's sword, but Siegmund 
rises again in a grandson. This inevitable fate is always 
helped by the woman; hence the wrath of Wotan. 

At Siegfried's birth Sieglinde dies, as is proper. The 
foster-mother 63 is apparently not a woman, but a chthonic 
god, a crippled dwarf, who belongs to that tribe which 
renounces love. 64 The Egyptian god of the underworld, 
the crippled shadow of Osiris (who celebrated a melan- 
choly resurrection in the sexless serni-ape Harpocrates), 
is the tutor of Horus, who has to avenge the death of his 


Meanwhile Brunhilde sleeps the enchanted sleep, like a 
Hierosgamos, upon a mountain, where Wotan has put her 
to sleep 65 with the magic thorn (Edda), surrounded by 
the flames of Wotan's fire (equal to libido 66 ), which 
wards off every one. But Mime becomes Siegfried's 
enemy and wills his death through Fafner. Here Mime's 
dynamic nature is revealed; he is a masculine representa- 
tion of the terrible mother, also a foster-mother of de- 
moniac nature, who places the poisonous worm (Typhon) 
in her son's (Horus's) path. Siegfried's longing for the 
mother drives him away from Mime, and his travels begin 
with the mother of death, and lead through vanquishing 
the " terrible mother " 67 to the woman: 


Off with the imp ! 

I ne'er would see him more! 

Might I but know what my mother was like 

That will my thought never tell me ! 

Her eyes' tender light 

Surely did shine 

Like the soft eyes of the doe ! 

Siegfried decides to separate from the demon which 
was the mother in the past, and he gropes forward with 
the longing directed towards the mother. Nature ac- 
quires a hidden maternal significance for him (" doe ") ; 
in the tones of nature he discovers a suggestion of the 
maternal voice and the maternal language : 


Thou gracious birdling, 
Strange art thou to me ! 


Dost them in the wood here dwell? 
Ah, would that I could take thy meaning! 
Thy song something would say 
Perchance of my loving mother! 

This psychology we have already encountered in Hia- 
watha. By means of his dialogue with the bird (bird, 
like wind and arrow, represents the wish, the winged 
longing) Siegfried entices Fafner from the cave. His 
desires turn back to the mother, and the chthonic demon, 
the cave-dwelling terror of the woods, appears. Fafner 
is the protector of the treasure ; in his cave lies the hoard, 
the source of life and power. The mother possesses the 
libido of the son, and jealously does she guard it. Trans- 
lated into psychological language, this means the positive 
transference succeeds only through the release of the 
libido from the mother-imago, the incestuous object in 
general. Only in this manner is it possible to gain one's 
libido, the incomparable treasure, and this requires a 
mighty struggle, the whole battle of adaptation. 68 The 
Siegfried legend has abundantly described the outcome of 
this battle with Fafner. According to the Edda, Sieg- 
fried eats Fafner's heart, the seat of life. He wins the 
magic cap, through whose power Alberich had changed 
himself into a serpent. This refers to the motive of cast- 
ing the skin, rejuvenation. By means of the magic cap 
one can vanish and assume different shapes. The van- 
ishing probably refers to dying and to the invisible pres- 
ence; that is, existence in the mother's womb. A luck- 
bringing cap, amniotic covering, the new-born child oc- 
casionally wears over his head (the caul). Moreover, 


Siegfried drinks the dragon's blood, which makes it pos- 
sible for him to understand the language of birds, and 
consequently he enters into a peculiar relation with Na- 
ture, a dominating position, the result of his knowledge, 
and finally wins the treasure. 

Hort is a mediaeval and Old High German word with 
the meaning of "collected and guarded treasure"; 
Gothic, huzd; Old Scandinavian, hodd; Germanic hozda, 
from pre-Germanic kuzdho for kudtho " the con- 
cealed." Kluge 69 adds to this the Greek nevdoo, 
sHvdov " to hide, to conceal." Also hut (hut, to 
guard; English, hide), Germanic root hud, from Indo- 
Germanic kuth (questionable), to Greek xsvOoo and 
Hva6o? 9 " cavity," feminine genitals. Prellwitz, 70 too, 
traces Gothic huzd, Anglo-Saxon hyde, English hide and 
hoard, to Greek nevdos. Whitley Stokes traces English 
hide, Anglo-Saxon hydan, New High German Hiitte, 
Latin cudo = helmet; Sanskrit kuhara (cave?) to primi- 
tive Celtic koudo concealment; Latin, occultatio. 

The assumption of Kluge is also supported in other 
directions; namely, from the point of view of the primi- 
tive idea: 

"There exists in Athens 71 a sacred place (a Temenos) of Ge, 
with the surname Olympia. Here the ground is torn open for 
about a yard in width; and they say, after the flood at the time 
of Deucalion, that the water receded here; and every year they 
throw into the fissure wheatmeal, kneaded with honey." 

We have observed previously that among the Arrhe- 
tophorian, pastry in the form of snakes and phalli, was 
thrown into a crevice in the earth. This was mentioned 


in connection with the ceremonies of fertilizing the earth. 
We have touched slightly already upon the sacrifice in 
the earth crevice among the Watschandies. The flood 
of death has passed characteristically into the crevice of 
the earth; that is, back into the mother again; because 
from the mother the universal great death has come in 
the first place. The flood is simply the counterpart of the 
vivifying and all-producing water: 'nnearov, OG nep ye- 
vsffi? navreaai rirvKtai* One sacrifices the honey cake 
to the mother, so that she may spare one from death. 
Thus every year in Rome a gold sacrifice was thrown 
into the lacus Curtius, into the former fissure in the earth, 
which could only be closed through the sacrificial death 
of Curtius. He was the typical hero, who has journeyed 
into the underworld, in order to conquer the danger 
threatening the Roman state from the opening of the 
abyss. (Kaineus, Amphiaraos.) In the Amphiaraion of 
Oropos those healed through the temple incubation threw 
their gifts of gold into the sacred well, of which Pau- 
sanias says : 

" If any one is healed of a sickness through a saying of the 
oracle, then it is customary to throw a silver or gold coin into the 
well; because here Amphiaraos has ascended as a god." 

It is probable that this oropic well is also the place of 
his " Katabasis " (descent into the lower world). There 
were many entrances into Hades in antiquity. Thus near 
Eleusis there was an abyss, through which Aidoneus 
passed up and down, when he kidnapped Cora. (Dragon 

* Ocean, who arose to be the producer of all. 


and maiden: the libido overcome by resistance, life re- 
placed by death.) There were crevices in the rocks, 
through which souls could ascend to the upper world. Be- 
hind the temple of Chthonia in Hermione lay a sacred 
district of Pluto, with a ravine through which Hercules 
had brought up Cerberus; in addition, there was an 
" Acherusian " lake. 72 This ravine was, therefore, the 
entrance to the place where death was conquered. The 
lake also belongs here as a further mother symbol, for 
symbols appear massed together, as they are surrogates, 
and, therefore, do not afford the same satisfaction of de- 
sire as accorded by reality, so that the unsatisfied rem- 
nant of the libido must seek still further symbolic outlets. 
The ravine in the Areopagus in Athens was considered 
the seat of inhabitants of the lower world. An old 
Grecian custom 73 suggests a similar idea. Girls were 
sent into a cavern, where a poisonous snake dwelt, as a 
test of virginity. If they were bitten by the snake, it was 
a token that they were no longer chaste. We find this 
same motive again in the Roman legend of St. Silvester, 
at the end of the fifth century : 74 

" Erat draco immanissimus in monte Tarpeio, in quo est Capi- 
tolium collocatum. Ad hunc draconem per CCCLXV gradus, 
quasi ad infernum, magi cum virginibus sacrilegis descendebant 
semel in mense cum sacrifices et lustris, ex quibus esca poterat 
tanto draconi inferri. Hie draco subito ex improvise ascendebat 
et licet non ingrederetur vicinos tamen acres flatu suo vitiabat. 
Ex quo mortalitas hominum et maxima luctus de morte veniebat 
infantum. (Lilith motive.) Sanctus itaque Silvester cum haberet 
cum paganis pro defensione veritatis conflictum, ad hoc venit ut 
dicerent ei pagani : ' Silvester descende ad draconem et f ac eum 


in nomine Dei tui vel uno anno ab interfectione generis humani 
cessare." * 

St. Peter appeared to Silvester in a dream and advised 
him to close his door to the underworld with chains, ac- 
cording to the model in Revelation, chap, xx: 

1 i ) " And I saw an angel come down from heaven, having the 
key of the bottomless pit, and a great chain in his hand. 

(2) "And he laid hold on the dragon, that old serpent, which 
is the Devil and Satan, and bound him a thousand years. 

(3) "And cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, 
and set a seal upon him." 

The anonymous author of a writing, " De Promissioni- 
bus," 75 of the beginning of the fifth century, mentions a 
very similar legend: 

" Apud urbem Romam specus quidam fuit in quo draco mirae 
magnitudinis mechanica arte formatus, gladium ore gestans, 76 
oculis rutilantibus gemmis 77 metuendus ac terribilis apparebat. 
Hinc annuae devotae virgines floribus exornatae, eo modo in sac- 
rificio dabantur, quatenus inscias munera deferentes gradum 
scalae, quo certe ille arte diaboli draco pendebat, contingentes im- 
petus venientis gladii perimeret, ut sanguinem funderet inno- 
centem. Et hunc quidam monachus, bene ob meritum cognitus 
Stiliconi tune patricio, eo modo subvertit; baculo, manu, singulos 
gradus palpandos inspiciens, statim ut ilium tangens fraudem 

* There was a huge dragon on Mount Tarpeius, where the Capitoliura 
stands. Once a month, with sacrilegious maidens, the priests descended 
365 steps into the hell of this dragon, carrying expiatory offerings of food 
for the dragon. Then the dragon suddenly and unexpectedly arose, 
and, though he did not come out, he poisoned the air with his breath. 
Thence came the mortality of man and the deepest sorrow for the death 
of the children. When, for the defence of truth, St. Silvester had had a 
conflict with the heathen, it came to this that the heathen said: " Silvester, 
go down to the dragon, and in the name of thy God make him desist from 
the killing of mankind." 


diabolicam repperit, eo transgresso descendens, draconem scidit, 
misitque in partes: ostendens et hie deos non esse qui manu 
fiunt." * 

The hero battling with the dragon has much in common 
with the dragon, and also he takes over his qualities; for 
example, invulnerability. As the footnotes show, the simi- 
larity is carried still further (sparkling eyes, sword in his 
mouth). Translated psychologically, the dragon is 
merely the son's repressed longing, striving towards the 
mother; .therefore, the son is the dragon, as even 
Christ is identified with the serpent, which, once upon a 
time, similia similibus, had controlled the snake plague 
in the Wilderness. John iii: 14. As a serpent he is 
to be crucified; that is to say, as one striving backwards 
towards the mother, he must die hanging or suspended 
on the mother tree. Christ and the dragon of the Anti- 
christ are in the closest contact in the history of their 
appearance and their cosmic meaning. (Compare Bous- 
set, the Antichrist.) The legend of the dragon concealed 

* Near the city of Rome there was a certain cavern in which appeared 
a dragon of remarkable size, mechanically produced, brandishing a sword 
in his mouth, his eyes glittering like gems, fearful and terrible. Hither 
came virgins every year, devoted to this service, adorned with flowers, 
who were given to him in sacrifice. Bringing these gifts, they unknow- 
ingly descended the steps to a point where, with diabolical cunning, the 
dragon was suspended, striking those who came a blow with the sword, 
so that the innocent blood was shed. Now, there was a certain monk 
who, on account of his good deeds, was well known to Stilico, the patri- 
cian; he killed this dragon as follows: He examined each separate step 
carefully, both with a rod and his own hand, until, discovering the false 
step, he exposed the diabolical fraud. Then, jumping over this step, 
he went down and killed the dragon, cutting him to pieces, demon- 
strating that one who could be destroyed by human hand could not be a 


in the Antichrist myth belongs to the life of the hero, 
and, therefore, is immortal. In none of the newer forms 
of myth are the pairs of opposites so perceptibly near as 
in that of Christ and Antichrist. (I refer to the remark- 
able psychologic description of this problem in Meresch- 
kowski's romance, "Leonardo da Vinci.") That the 
dragon is only an artifice is a useful and delightfully 
rationalistic conceit, which is most significant for that 
period. In this way the dismal gods were effectually vul- 
garized. The schizophrenic insane readily make use of this 
mechanism, in order to depreciate efficient personalities. 
One often hears the stereotyped lament, " It is all a play, 
artificial, made up," etc. A dream of a " schizophrenic " 
is most significant; he is sitting in a dark room, which 
has only a single small window, through which he can see 
the sky. The sun and moon appear, but they are only 
made artificially from oil paper. (Denial of the delete- 
rious incest influence.) 

The descent of the three hundred and sixty-five steps 
refers to the sun's course, to the cavern of death and re- 
birth. That this cavern actually stands in a relation to 
the subterranean mother of death can be shown by a note 
in Malalas, the historian of Antioch, 78 who relates that 
Diocletian consecrated there a crypt to Hecate, to which 
one descends by three hundred and sixty-five steps. Cave 
mysteries seem to have been celebrated for Hecate in 
Samothrace as well. The serpent also played a great part 
as a regular symbolic attribute in the service of Hecate. 
The mysteries of Hecate flourished in Rome towards the 
end of the fourth century, so that the two foregoing 


legends might indeed relate to her cult. Hecate 79 is a 
real spectral goddess of night and phantoms, a Mar; she 
is represented as riding, and in Hesiod occurs as the 
patron of riders. She sends the horrible nocturnal fear 
phantom, the Empusa, of whom Aristophanes says that 
she appears inclosed in a bladder swollen with blood. 
According to Libanius, the mother of Aischines is also 
called Empusa, for the reason that en ffHorsivcov TOTTGOV 
TOI? naiG\v nai rai? yvvai%iv (apjjexTO."* 

Empusa, like Hecate, has peculiar feet; one foot is 
made of brass, the other of ass' dung. Hecate has snake- 
like feet, which, as in the triple form ascribed to Hecate, 
points to her phallic libido nature. 80 In Tralles, Hecate 
appears next to Priapus; there is also a Hecate Aphro- 
disias. Her symbols are the key, 81 the whip, 82 the snake, 83 
the dagger 84 and the torch. 85 As mother of death, dogs 
accompany her, the significance of which we have pre- 
viously discussed at length. As guardian of the door of 
Hades and as Goddess of dogs, she is of threefold form, 
and really identified with Cerberus. Thus Hercules, in 
bringing up Cerberus, brings the conquered mother of 
death into the upper world. As spirit mother (moon!), 
she sends madness, lunacy. (This mythical observation 
states that " the mother " sends madness; by far the ma- 
jority of the cases of insanity consist, in fact, in the domi- 
nation of the individual by the material of the incest 
phantasy.) In the mysteries of Cerberus, a rod, 
called \VHocpvXko^,\ was broken off. This rod protected 

* Out of dark places she rushes on children and women, 
t White-leaved. 


the purity of virgins, and caused any one who touched 
the plant to become insane. We recognize in this the 
motive of the sacred tree, which, as mother, must not 
be touched, an act which only an insane person would 
commit. Hecate, as nightmare, appears in the form of 
Empusa, in a vampire role, or as Lamia, as devourer of 
men; perhaps, also, in that more beautiful guise, " The 
Bride of Corinth." She is the mother of all charms and 
witches, the patron of Medea, because the power of the 
"terrible mother" is magical and irresistible (working 
upward from the unconscious). In Greek syncretism, 
she plays a very significant role. She is confused with 
Artemis, who also has the surname endr?}* " the one 
striking at a distance " or u striking according to her 
will," in which we recognize again her superior power. 
Artemis is the huntress, with hounds, and so Hecate, 
through confusion with her, becomes KvrrjyeriHif, the 
wild nocturnal huntress. (God, as huntsman, see above.) 
She has her name in common with Apollo, fnaro? 
Kaepyo$.-\ From the standpoint of the libido theory, 
this connection is easily understandable, because Apollo 
merely symbolizes the more positive side of the same 
amount of libido. The confusion of Hecate with Brimo 
as subterranean mother is understandable; also with 
Persephone and Rhea, the primitive all-mother. Intel- 
ligible through the maternal significance is the confusion 
with Ilithyia, the midwife. Hecate is also the direct 
goddess of births, Hovporp6cpo?,l the multiplier of cat- 

* Far-shooting Hecate. t Far-shooting, the far-darting. 

$ Goddess of birth. 


tie, and goddess of marriage. Hecate, orphically, oc- 
cupies the centre of the world as Aphrodite and Gaia, 
even as the world soul in general. On a carved gem 88 
she is represented carrying the cross on her head. The 
beam on which the criminal was scourged is called 
endrrf. * To her, as to the Roman Trivia, the triple roads, 
or Scheideweg, " forked road," or crossways were dedi- 
cated. And where roads branch off or unite sacrifices of 
dogs were brought her; there the bodies of the executed 
were thrown; the sacrifice occurs at the point of crossing. 
Etymologically, scheide, " sheath " ; for example, sword- 
sheath, sheath for water-shed and sheath for vagina, is 
identical with scheiden, " to split," or " to separate." The 
meaning of a sacrifice at this place would, therefore, be 
as follows : to offer something to the mother at the place 
of junction or at the fissure. (Compare the sacrifice to 
the chthonic gods in the abyss.) The Temenos of Ge, the 
abyss and the well, are easily understood as the gates of 
life and death, 87 " past which every one gladly creeps " 
(Faust), and sacrifices there his obolus or his 7tehavoi,\ 
instead of his body, just as Hercules soothes Cerberus 
with the honey cakes. (Compare with this the mythical 
significance of the dog!) Thus the crevice at Delphi, 
with the spring, Castalia, was the seat of the chthonic 
dragon, Python, who was conquered by the sun-hero, 
Apollo. (Python, incited by Hera, pursued Leta, preg- 
nant with Apollo; but she, on the floating island of Delos 
[nocturnal journey on the sea], gave birth to her child, 
who later slew the Python; that is to say, conquered in 

* Hecate. f Sacrificial cakes offered to the gods. 


it the spirit mother.) In Hierapolis (Edessa) the temple 
was erected above the crevice through which the flood 
had poured out, and in Jerusalem the foundation stone 
of the temple covered the great abyss, 88 just as Christian 
churches are frequently built over caves, grottoes, wells, 
etc. In the Mithra grotto, 89 and all the other sacred 
caves up to the Christian catacombs, which owe their 
significance not to the legendary persecutions but to the 
worship of the dead, 90 we come across the same funda- 
mental motive. The burial of the dead in a holy place 
(in the u garden of the dead," in cloisters, crypts, etc.) 
is restitution to the mother, with the certain hope of res- 
urrection by which such burial is rightfully rewarded. 
The animal of death which dwells in the cave had to be 
soothed in early times through human sacrifices; later 
with natural gifts. 91 Therefore, the Attic custom gives 
to the dead the peXirovrra, to pacify the dog of hell, 
the three-headed monster at the gate of the underworld. 
A more recent elaboration of the natural gifts seems to be 
the obolus for Charon, who is, therefore, designated by 
Rohde as the second Cerberus, corresponding to the 
Egyptian dog-faced god Anubis. 92 Dog and serpent of 
the underworld (Dragon) are likewise identical. In 
the tragedies, the Erinnyes are serpents as well as dogs; 
the serpents Tychon and Echidna are parents of the ser- 
pents Hydra, the dragon of the Hesperides, and Gorgo; 
and of the dogs, Cerberus, Orthrus, Scylla. 93 Serpents 
and dogs are also protectors of the treasure. The 
chthonic god was probably always a serpent dwelling in a 
cave, and was fed with TtfXavoL* In the Asclepiadean of 

* Rituul sacrificial food offered to the gods. 


the later period, the sacred serpents were scarcely visible, 
meaning that they probably "existed only figuratively. 94 
Nothing was left but the hole in which the snake was 
said to dwell. There the nzkavoi* were placed; later 
the obolus was thrown in. The sacred cavern in the 
temple of Kos consisted of a rectangular pit, upon which 
was laid a stone lid, with a square hole ; this arrangement 
serves the purpose of a treasure house. The snake hole 
had become a slit for money, a " sacrificial box," and the 
cave had become a " treasure." That this development, 
which Herzog traces, agrees excellently with the actual 
condition is shown by a discovery in the temple of Ascle- 
pius and Hygieia in Ptolemais : 

" An encoiled granite snake, with arched neck, was found. In 
the middle of the coil is seen a narrow slit, polished by usage, 
just large enough to allow a coin of four centimeters diameter at 
most to fall through. At the side are holes for handles to lift the 
heavy pieces, the under half of which is used as a cover." Herzog, 
Ibid., p. 212. 

The serpent, as protector of the hoard, now lies on the 
treasure house. The fear of the maternal womb of 
death has become the guardian of the treasure of life. 
That the snake in this connection is really a symbol of 
death, that is to say, of the dead libido, results from the 
fact that the souls of the dead, like the chthonic gods, ap- 
pear as serpents, as dwellers in the kingdom of the mother 
of death. 95 This development of symbol allows us to rec- 
ognize easily the transition of the originally very primi- 
tive significance of the crevice in the earth as mother to the 

* Ritual sacrificial food offered to the gods. 


meaning of treasure house, and can, therefore, support the 
etymology of Hort, " hoard, treasure," as suggested by 
Kluge. HevBGo, belonging tonevBo?, means the innermost 
womb of the earth (Hades) ; nvado?, that Kluge adds, 
is of similar meaning, cavity or womb. Prellwitz does 
not mention this connection. Pick, 96 however, compares 
New High German hort, Gothic huzd, to Armenian kust, 
"abdomen"; Church Slavonian cista, Vedic kostha 
abdomen, from the Indo-Germanic root koustho -s = 
viscera, lower abdomen, room, store-room. Prellwitz 
compares nvffQo? nvan? = urinary bladder, bag, purse ; 
Sanskrit kustha-s = cavity of the loins ; then HVTO* = 
cavity, vault; HVTIS = little chest, from HV&GO = I am 
pregnant. Here, from nvros cave, nvap = hole, 
= cup, KvKa = depression under the eye, 
= swelling, wave, billow, nvpot = power, force, 
Hvpio? = lord, Old Iranian caur, cur = hero ; Sanskrit 
qura -s = strong, hero. The fundamental Indo-Germanic 
roots 97 are kevo = to swell, to be strong. From that 
the above-mentioned nvewj nvap, nvpo$ and Latin 
cavus = hollow, vaulted, cavity, hole ; cave a = cavity, 
enclosure, cage, scene and assembly; caula = cavity, 
opening, enclosure, stall 98 ; kueyo = swell; participle, 
kueyonts = swelling; en-kueyonts = pregnant, synveoov 
= Latin inciens pregnant ; compare Sanskrit vi-qvd- 
yan = swelling; kuro -s (kevaro-s), strong, powerful 

The treasure which the hero fetches from the dark 
cavern is swelling life; it is himself, the hero, new- 
born from the anxiety of pregnancy and the birth throes. 


Thus the Hindoo fire-bringer is called Matarigvan, mean- 
ing the one swelling in the mother. The hero striving 
towards the mother is the dragon, and when he separates 
from the mother he becomes the conqueror of the 
dragon." This train of thought, which we have already 
hinted at previously in Christ and Antichrist, may be 
traced even into the details of Christian phantasy. There 
is a series of mediaeval pictures 10 in which the com- 
munion cup contains a dragon, a snake or some sort of 
small animal. 101 

The cup is the receptacle, the maternal womb, of the 
god resurrected in the wine; the cup is the cavern where 
the serpent dwells, the god who sheds his skin, in the 
state of metamorphosis; for Christ is also the serpent. 
These symbolisms are used in an obscure connection in 
I Corinthians, verse 10: Paul writes of the Jews who 
" were all baptized unto Moses in the cloud and in the 
sea " (also reborn) and " did all drink the same spiritual 
drink; for they drank of that spiritual rock that followed 
them, and that rock was Christ." They drank from the 
mother (the generative rock, birth from the rock) the 
milk of rejuvenation, the mead of immortality, and this 
Rock was Christ, here identified with the mother, because 
he is the symbolic representative of the mother libido. 
When we drink from the cup, then we drink from the 
mother's breast immortality and everlasting salvation. 
Paul wrote of the Jews that they ate and then rose up 
to dance and to indulge in fornication, and then twenty- 
three thousand of them were swept off by the plague of 
serpents. The remedy for the survivors, however, was 



the sight of a serpent hanging on a pole. From it was 
derived the cure. 

" The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion of 
the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not the 
communion of the body of Christ? For we being many are one 
bread, and one body; for we are all partakers of one bread." 
/ Corinthians x: 16, 17. 

Bread and wine are the body and the blood of Christ; 
the food of the immortals who are brothers with Christ, 
ddehcpoi, those who come from the same womb. We 
who are reborn again from the mother are all heroes 
together with Christ, and enjoy immortal food. As with 
the Jews, so too with the Christians, there is imminent 
danger of unworthy partaking, for this mystery, which is 
very closely related psychologically with the subterranean 
Hierosgamos of Eleusis, involves a mysterious union of 
man in a spiritual sense, 102 which was constantly misun- 
derstood by the profane and was retranslated into his 
language, where mystery is equivalent to orgy and 
secrecy to vice. 103 A very interesting blasphemer and sec- 
tarian of the beginning of the nineteenth century named 
Unternahrer has made the following comment on the 
last supper: 

" The communion of the devil is in this brothel. All they sac- 
rifice here, they sacrifice to the devil and not to God. There they 
have the devil's cup and the devil's dish; there they have sucked 
the head of the snake* there they have fed upon the iniquitous 
bread and drunken the wine of wickedness." 105 

Unternahrer is an adherent or a forerunner of the 
" theory of living one's own nature." He dreams of him- 
self as a sort of priapic divinity; he says of himself: 


" Black-haired, very charming and handsome in countenance, 
and every one enjoys listening to thee on account of the amiable 
speeches which come from thy mouth; therefore the maids love 

He preaches " the cult of nakedness." 

" Ye fools and blind men, behold God has created man in his 
image, as male and female, and has blessed them and said, ' Be 
fruitful and multiply and fill the earth, and make it subject to 
thee.' Therefore, he has given the greatest honor to these poor 
members and has placed them naked in the garden," etc. 

" Now are the fig leaves and the covering removed, because 
thou hast turned to the Lord, for the Lord is the Spirit, and where 
the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom, 106 there the clearness 
of the Lord is mirrored with uncovered countenance. This is 
precious before God, and this is the glory of the Lord, and the 
adornment of our God, when you stand in the image and honor 
of your God, as God created you, naked and not ashamed. 

" Who can ever praise sufficiently in the sons and daughters 
of the living God those parts of the body which are destined to 
procreate ? 

" In the lap of the daughters of Jerusalem is the gate of the 
Lord, and the Just will go into the temple there, to the altar. 107 
And in the lap of the sons of the living God is the water-pipe of 
the upper part, which is a tube, like a rod, to measure the temple 
and altar. And under the water-tube the sacred stones are placed, 
as a sign and testimony of the Lord, who has taken to himself the 
seed of Abraham. 

" Out of the seeds in the chamber of the mother, God creates 
a man with his hands, as an image of himself. Then the mother 
house and the mother chamber is opened in the daughters of the 
Living God, and God himself brings forth a child through them. 
Thus God creates children from the stones, for the seed comes 
from the stones." 108 

History teaches in manifold examples how the religious 
mysteries are liable to change suddenly into sexual orgies 


because they have originated from an overvaluation of the 
orgy. It is characteristic that this priapic divinity 109 re- 
turns again to the old symbol of the snake, which in the 
mystery enters into the faithful, fertilizing and spiritual- 
izing them, although it originally possessed a phallic sig- 
nificance. In the mysteries of the Ophites, the festival 
was really celebrated with serpents, in which the animals 
were even kissed. (Compare the caressing of the snake 
of Demeter in the Eleusinian mysteries.) In the sexual 
orgies of the modern Christian sects the phallic kiss plays 
a very important role. Unternahrer was an uncultivated, 
crazy peasant, and it is unlikely that the Ophitic religious 
ceremonies were known to him. 

The phallic significance is expressed negatively or mys- 
teriously through the serpent, which always points to a 
secret related thought. This related thought connects 
with the mother; thus, in a dream a patient found the 
following imagery : " A serpent shot out from a moist 
cave and bit the dreamer in the region of the genitals." 
This dream took place at the instant when the patient 
was convinced of the truth of the analysis, and began 
to free himself from the bond of his mother complex. 
The meaning is: I am convinced that I am inspired and 
poisoned by the mother. The contrary manner of ex- 
pression is characteristic of the dream. At the moment 
when he felt the impulse to go forwards he perceived the 
attachment to the mother. Another patient had the fol- 
lowing dream during a relapse, in which the libido was 
again wholly introverted for a time : " She was entirely 
filled within by a great snake; only one end of the tail 


peeped out from her arm. She wanted to seize it, but it 
escaped her." A patient with a very strong introversion 
(catatonic state) complained to me that a snake was 
stuck in her throat. 110 This symbolism is also used by 
Nietzsche in the u vision " of the shepherd and the 
snake : 1X1 

" And verily, what I saw was like nothing I ever saw before. 
I saw a young shepherd, writhing, choking, twitching with a con- 
vulsed face, from whose mouth hung a black, heavy serpent. 

" Did I ever see so much disgust and pallid fear upon a counte- 
nance? 112 Might he have been sleeping, and the snake crept 
into his mouth there it bit him fast? 

" My hand tore at the serpent and tore in vain ! I failed to 
tear the serpent out of his mouth. Then there cried put of me: 
'Bite! Bite! Its head off! Bite!' I exclaimed; all my horror, 
my hate, my disgust, my compassion, all the good and bad cried 
out from me in one voice. 

" Ye intrepid ones around me ! solve for me the riddle which I 
saw, make clear to me the vision of the lonesomest one. 

" For it was a vision and a prophecy ; what did then I behold 
in parable ? And who is it who is still to come ? 

" Who is the shepherd into whose mouth crept the snake? Who 
is the man into whose throat all the heaviness and the blackest 
would creep? 113 

" But the shepherd bit, as my cry had told him ; he bit with a 
huge bite! Far away did he spit the head of the serpent and 
sprang up. 

" No longer shepherd, no longer man, a transfigured being, an 
illuminated being, who laughed! Never yet on earth did a man 
laugh as he laughed! 

"O my brethren, I heard a laugh which was no human 
laughter and now a thirst consumeth me, a longing that is never 

" My longing for this laugh eats into me. Oh, how can I 
suffer still to live! And how now can I bear to die! " 114 


The snake represents the introverting libido. Through 
introversion one is fertilized, inspired, regenerated and 
reborn from the God. In Hindoo philosophy this idea of 
creative, intellectual activity has even cosmogenic signifi- 
cance. The unknown original creator of all things is, ac- 
cording to Rigveda 10, 121, Prajapati, the "Lord of 
Creation." In the various Brahmas, his cosmogenic 
activity was depicted in the following manner 

" Prajapati desired: ' I will procreate myself, I will be manifold.' 
He performed Tapas; after he had performed Tapas he created 
these worlds." 

The strange conception of Tapas is to be translated, 
according to Deussen, 115 as " he heated himself with his 
own heat, 116 with the sense of * he brooded, he hatched.' ' 
Here the hatcher and the hatched are not two, but one 
and the same identical being. As Hiranyagarbha, 
Prajapati is the egg produced from himself, the world- 
egg, from which he hatches himself. He creeps into him- 
self, he becomes his own uterus, becomes pregnant with 
himself, in order to give birth to the world of multiplic- 
ity. Thus Prajapati through the way of introversion 
changed into something new, the multiplicity of the world. 
It is of especial interest to note how the most remote 
things come into contact. Deussen observes : 

" In the degree that the conception of Tapas (heat) becomes in 
hot India the symbol of exertion and distress, the ' tapo atapyata ' 
began to assume the meaning of self-castigation and became related 
to the idea that creation is an act of self-renunciation on the part 
of the Creator." 


Self-incubation and self-castigation and introversion 
are very closely connected ideas. 117 The Zosimos vision 
mentioned above betrays the same train of thought, where 
it is said of the place of transformation : 6 TOTTO? rfjs 
dffHijffeGo?.* We have already observed that the place 
of transformation is really the uterus. Absorption in 
one's self (introversion) is an entrance into one's own 
uterus, and also at the same time asceticism. In the 
philosophy of the Brahmans the world arose from this 
activity; among the post-Christian Gnostics it produced 
the revival and spiritual rebirth of the individual, who 
was born into a new spiritual world. The Hindoo philoso- 
phy is considerably more daring and logical, and assumes 
that creation results from introversion in general, as in 
the wonderful hymn of Rigveda, 10, 29, it is said: 

" What was hidden in the shell, 
Was born through the power of fiery torments. 
From this first arose love, 
As the germ of knowledge, 

The wise found the roots of existence in non-existence, 
By investigating the heart's impulses." 118 

This philosophical view interprets the world as an 
emanation of the libido, and this must be widely accepted 
from the theoretic as well as the psychologic standpoint, 
for the function of reality is an instinctive function, hav- 
ing the character of biological adaptation. When the in- 
sane Schreber brought about the end of the world through 
his libido-introversion, he expressed an entirely rational 
psychologic view, just as Schopenhauer wished to abolish 

* The place of discipline. 


through negation (holiness, asceticism) the error of the 
primal will, through which the world was created. Does 
not Goethe say : 

" You follow a false trail ; 
Do not think that we are not serious; 
Is not the kernel of nature 
In the hearts of men ? " 

The hero, who is to accomplish the rejuvenation of 
the world and the conquest of death, is the libido, which, 
brooding upon itself in introversion, coiling as a snake 
around its own egg, apparently threatens life with a poi- 
sonous bite, in order to lead it to death, and from that 
darkness, conquering itself, gives birth to itself again. 
Nietzsche knows this conception : 119 

" How long have you sat already upon your misfortune. 
Give heed ! lest you hatch an egg, 
A basilisk egg 
Of your long travail." 

The hero is himself a serpent, himself a sacrificer and 
a sacrificed. The hero himself is of serpent nature; 
therefore, Christ compares himself with the serpent; 
therefore, the redeeming principle of the world of that 
Gnostic sect which styled itself the Ophite was the ser- 
pent. The serpent is the Agatho and Kako demon. It 
is, indeed, intelligible, when, in the Germanic saga, they 
say that the heroes had serpents' eyes. 120 I recall the 
parallel previously drawn between the eyes of the Son of 
man and those of the Tarpeian dragon. In the already 
mentioned mediaeval pictures, the dragon, instead of the 


Lord, appeared in the cup ; the dragon who with changeful, 
serpent glances 121 guarded the divine mystery of renewed 
rebirth in the maternal womb. In Nietzsche the old, ap- 
parently long extinct idea is again revived : 122 

" Ailing with tenderness, just as the thawing wind, 
Zarathustra sits waiting, waiting on his hill, 
Sweetened and cooked in his own juice, 
Beneath his summits, 
Beneath his ice he sits, 
Weary and happy, 
A Creator on his seventh day. 
It is my truth ! 
From hesitating eyes 
From velvety shadows 
Her glance meets mine, 
Lovely, mischievous, the glance of a girl. 
She divines the reason of my happiness, 
She divines me ha! what is she plotting? 
A purple dragon lurks 
In the abyss of her maiden glance. 123 
Woe to thee, Zarathustra, 
Thou seemest like some one 
Who has swallowed gold, 
Thy belly will be slit open." 12 * 

In this poem nearly all the symbolism is collected which 
we have elaborated previously from other connections. 
Distinct traces of the primitive identity of serpent and 
hero are still extant in the myth of Cecrops. Cecrops 
is himself half-snake, half-man. Originally, he probably 
was the Athenian snake of the citadel itself. As a buried 
god, he is like Erechtheus, a chthonic snake god. Above 
his subterranean dwelling rises the Parthenon, the temple 


of the virgin goddess (compare the analogous idea of the 
Christian church). The casting of the skin of the god, 
which we have already mentioned in passing, stands in 
the closest relation to the nature of the hero. We have 
spoken already of the Mexican god who casts his skin. 
It is also told of Mani, the founder of the Manichaean 
sect, that he was killed, skinned, stuffed and hung up. 125 
That is the death of Christ, merely in another mytho- 
logical form. 126 

Marsyas, who seems to be a substitute for Attis, the 
son-lover of Cybele, was also skinned. 127 Whenever a 
Scythian king died, slaves and horses were slaughtered, 
skinned and stuffed, and then set up again. 128 In Phrygia, 
the representatives of the father-god were killed and 
skinned. The same was done in Athens with an ox, who 
was skinned and stuffed and again hitched to the plough. 

In this manner the revival of the fertility of the earth 
was celebrated. 129 

This readily explains the fragment from the Sabazios 
mysteries, transmitted to us by Firmicus: 13 Tavposdpd- 
KovroZ nal narrfp ravpov dpctK&v*. 

The active fructifying (upward striving) form of the 
libido is changed into the negative force striving down- 
wards towards death. The hero as zodion of spring 
(ram, bull) conquers the depths of winter; and beyond 
the summer solstice is attacked by the unconscious long- 
ing for death, and is bitten by the snake. However, he 
himself is the snake. But he is at war with himself, and, 
therefore, the descent and the end appear to him as the 

*The bull, father of the serpent, and the serpent, father of the bull. 


malicious inventions of the mother of death, who in this 
way wishes to draw him to herself. The mysteries, how- 
ever, consolingly promise that there is no contradiction 131 
or disharmony when life is changed into death: ravpo? 
dpanovroZ nal narrfp ravpov SpctKGov. 

Nietzsche, too, gives expression to this mystery : 132 

" Here do I sit now, 
That is, I'm swallowed down 
By this the smallest oasis 
It opened up just yawning, 
Its loveliest maw agape. 
Hail ! hail ! to that whalefish, 
When he for his guests' welfare 
Provided thus! 

Hail to his belly 

If he had also 

Such a lovely oasis belly 

The desert grows, woe to him 

Who hides the desert ! 

Stone grinds on stone, the desert 

Gulps and strangles. 

The monstrous death gazes, glowing brown, 

And chews his life is his chewing . . . 

Forget not, O man, burnt out by lust, 

Thou art the stone, the desert, 

Thou art death!" 

The serpent symbolism of the Last Supper is explained 
by the identification of the hero with the serpent: The 
god is buried in the mother: as fruit of the field, as food 
coming from the mother and at the same time as drink 
of immortality he is received by the mystic, or as a ser- 
pent he unites with the mystic. All these symbols rep- 


resent the liberation of the libido from the incestuous 
fixation through which new life is attained. The libera- 
tion is accomplished under symbols, which represent the 
activity of the incest wish. 

It might be justifiable at this place to cast a glance 
upon psychoanalysis as a method of treatment. In prac- 
tical analysis it is important, first of all, to discover the 
libido lost from the control oP consciousness. (It often 
happens to the libido as with the fish of Moses in the 
Mohammedan legend; it sometimes "takes its course in 
a marvellous manner into the sea.") Freud says in his 
important article, " Zur Dynamik der Ubertragung " : 133 

" The libido has retreated into regression and again revives the 
infantile images." 

This means, mythologically, that the sun is devoured 
by the serpent of the night, the treasure is concealed and 
guarded by the dragon: substitution of a present mode 
of adaptation by an infantile mode, which is represented 
by the corresponding neurotic symptoms. Freud con- 
tinues : 

" Thither the analytic treatment follows it and endeavors to 
seek out the libido again, to render it accessible to consciousness, 
and finally to make it serviceable to reality. Whenever the 
analytic investigation touches upon the libido, withdrawn into its 
hiding-place, a struggle must break out ; all the forces, which have 
caused the regression of the libido, will rise up as resistance against 
the work, in order to preserve this new condition." 

Mythologically this means : the hero seeks the lost sun, 
the fire, the virgin sacrifice, or the treasure, and fights the 


typical fight with the dragon, with the libido in resistance. 
As these parallels show, psychoanalysis mobiles a part of 
the life processes, the fundamental importance of which 
properly illustrates the significance of this process. 

After Siegfried has slain the dragon, he meets the 
father, Wotan, plagued by gloomy cares, for the primi- 
tive mother, Erda, has placed in his path the snake, in 
order to enfeeble his sun/ He says to Erda : 

All-wise one, 

Care's piercing sting by thee was planted 
In Wotan's dauntless heart 
With fear of shameful ruin and downfall. 
Filled was his spirit by tidings 
Thou didst foretell. 

Art thou the world's wisest of women ? 
Tell to me now 
How a god may conquer his care. 

Erda : 

Thou art not 
What thou hast said. 

It is the same primitive motive which we meet in 
Wagner: the mother has robbed her son, the sun-god, of 
the joy of life, through a poisonous thorn, and deprives 
him of his power, which is connected with the name. Isis 
demands the name of the god; Erda says, " Thou art not 
what thou hast said." But the u Wanderer " has found 
the way to conquer the fatal charm of the mother, the 
fear of death : 

" The eternals' downfall 
No more dismays me, 
Since their doom I willed. 


" I leave to thee, loveliest Walsung, 
Gladly my heritage now. 
To the ever-young 
In gladness yieldeth the god ! " 

These wise words contain, in fact, the saving thought. 
It is not the mother who has placed the poisonous worm 
in our path, but our libido itself wills to complete the 
course of the sun to mount from morn to noon, and, pass- 
ing beyond noon, to hasten towards evening, not at war 
with itself, but willing the descent and the end. 13 * 

Nietzsche's Zarathustra teaches : 

" I praise thee, my death, the free death, which comes to me be- 
cause I want it. 

" And when shall I want it? 

" He who has a goal and an heir wants death at the proper 
time for his goal and his heir. 

" And this is the great noonday, when man in the middle of 
his course stands between man and superman, and celebrates his 
path towards evening as his highest hope : because it is the path to 
a new morning. 

" He who is setting will bless his own going down because it 
is a transition: and the sun of his knowledge will be at high noon." 

Siegfried conquers the father Wotan and takes posses- 
sion of Brunhilde. The first object that he sees is her 
horse; then he believes that he beholds a mail-clad man. 
He cuts to pieces the protecting coat of mail of the 
sleeper. (Overpowering.) When he sees it is a woman, 
terror seizes him : 

" My heart doth falter and faint; 
On whom shall I call 
That he may help me ? 


Mother ! Mother ! 
Remember me! 

"Can this be fearing? 
Oh, mother! Mother! 
Thy dauntless child! 
A woman lieth asleep: 
And she now has taught him to fear ! 

" Awaken ! Awaken ! 
Holiest maid! 

Then life from the sweetness of lips 
Will I win me 
E'en tho' I die in a kiss." 

In the duet which follows the mother is invoked : 

"O mother, hail! 
Who gave thee thy birth ! " 

The confession of Brunhilde is especially characteristic : 

" O knewest thou joy of the world, 
How I have ever loved thee! 
Thou wert my gladness, 
My care wert thou ! 
Thy life I sheltered; 
Or ere it was thine, 
Or ere thou wert born, 
My shield was thy guard." 1 " 

The pre-existence of the hero and the pre-existence of 
Brunhilde as his wife-mother are clearly indicated from 
this passage. 

Siegfried says in confirmation : 

" Then death took not my mother? 
Bound in sleep did she lie ? " 


The mother-imago, which is the symbol of the dying 
and resurrected libido, is explained by Brunhilde to the 
hero, as his own will : 

" Thyself am I 
If blest I be in thy love." 

The great mystery of the Logos entering into the 
mother for rebirth is proclaimed with the following words 
by Brunhilde : 

" O Siegfried, Siegfried, 
Conquering light! 
I loved thee ever, 
For I divined 

The thought that Wotan had hidden 
The thought that I dared 
Not to whisper 1S9 
That all unclearly 
Glowed in my bosom 
Suffered and strove; 
For which I flouted 
Him, who conceived it: 18 
For which in penance 
Prisoned I lay, 
While thinking it not 
And feeling only, 
For, in my thought, 
Oh, should you guess it? 
Was only my love for thee." 

The erotic similes which now follow distinctly reveal 
the motive of rebirth : 


A glorious flood 
Before me rolls. 


With all my senses 

I only see 

Its buoyant, gladdening billows. 

Though in the deep 

I find not my face, 

Burning, I long 

For the water's balm; 

And now as I am, 

Spring in the stream. 1 ' 37 

O might its billows 

Engulf me in bliss." 

The motive of plunging into the maternal water of re- 
birth (baptism) is here fully developed. An allusion to 
the " terrible mother " imago, the mother of heroes, who 
teaches them fear, is to be found in Brunhilde's words 
(the horse-woman, who guides the dead to the other 
side) : 

" Fearest thou, Siegfried? 
Fearest thou not 
The wild, furious woman ? " 

The orgiastic " Occide moriturus " resounds in Brun- 
hilde's words : 

" Laughing let us be lost 
Laughing go down to death! " 

And in the words 

" Light-giving love, 
Laughing death! " 

is to be found the same significant contrast. 

The further destinies of Siegfried are those of the In- 


victus: the spear of the gloomy, one-eyed Hagen strikes 
Siegfried's vulnerable spot. The old sun, who has become 
the god of death, the one-eyed Wotan, smites his off- 
spring, and once again ascends in eternal rejuvenation. 
The course of the invincible sun has supplied the mystery 
of human life with beautiful and imperishable symbols; it 
became a comforting fulfilment of all the yearning for 
immortality, of all desire of mortals for eternal life. 

Man leaves the mother, the source of libido, and is 
driven by the eternal thirst to find her again, and to drink 
renewal from her; thus he completes his cycle, and re- 
turns again into the mother's womb. Every obstacle 
which obstructs his life's path, and threatens his ascent, 
wears the shadowy features of the " terrible mother," 
who paralyzes his energy with the consuming poison of 
the stealthy, retrospective longing. In each conquest he 
wins again the smiling love and life-giving mother 
images which belong to the intuitive depths of human feel- 
ing, the features of which have become mutilated and 
irrecognizable through the progressive development of 
the surface of the human mind. The stern necessity of 
adaptation works ceaselessly to obliterate the last traces 
of these primitive landmarks of the period of the origin 
of the human mind, and to replace them along lines 
which are to denote more and more clearly the nature of 
real objects. 


AFTER this long digression, let us return to Miss Mil- 
ler's vision. We can now answer the question as to 
the significance of Siegfried's longing for Brunhilde. It 
is the striving of the libido away from the mother 
towards the mother. This paradoxical sentence may be 
translated as follows: as long as the libido is satisfied 
merely with phantasies, it moves in itself, in its own 
depths, in the mother. 1 When the longing of our author 
rises in order to escape the magic circle of the incestuous 
and, therefore, pernicious, object, and it does not succeed 
in finding reality, then the object is and remains irrevo- 
cably the mother. Only the overcoming of the obstacles 
of reality brings the deliverance from the mother, who is 
the continuous and inexhaustible source of life for the 
creator, but death for the cowardly, timid and sluggish. 

Whoever is acquainted with psychoanalysis knows how 
often neurotics cry out against their parents. To be sure, 
such complaints and reproaches are often justified on ac- 
count of the common human imperfections, but still more 
often they are reproaches which should really be directed 
towards themselves. Reproach and hatred are always 
futile attempts to free one's self apparently from the par- 
ents, but in reality from one's own hindering longing for 



the parents. Our author proclaims through the mouth 
of her infantile hero Chiwantopel a series of insults 
against her own family. We can assume that she must 
renounce all these tendencies, because they contain an un- 
recognized wish. This hero, of many words, who per- 
forms few deeds and indulges in futile yearnings, is the 
libido which has not fulfilled its destiny, but which turns 
round and round in the kingdom of the mother, and, in 
spite of all its longing, accomplishes nothing. Only he 
can break this magic circle who possesses the courage of 
the will to live and the heroism to carry it through. 
Could this yearning hero-youth, Chiwantopel, but put an 
end to his existence, he would probably rise again in the 
form of a brave man seeking real life. This necessity 
imposes itself upon the dreamer as a wise counsel and 
hint of the unconscious in the following monologue of 
Chiwantopel. He cries sadly : 

" In all the world, there is not a single one ! I have sought 
among a hundred tribes. I have watched a hundred moons, since 
I began. Can it be that there is not a solitary being who will 
ever know my soul? Yes, by the sovereign God, yes! But ten 
thousand moons will wax and wane before that pure soul is born. 
And it is from another world that her parents will come to this 
one. She will have pale skin and pale locks. She will know sor- 
row before her mother bears her. Suffering will accompany her ; 
she will seek also, and she will find, no one who understands her. 
Temptation will often assail her soul but she will not yield. 
In her dreams, I will come to her, and she will understand. I have 
kept my body inviolate. I have come ten thousand moons before 
her epoch, and she will come ten thousand moons too late. But 
she will understand! There is only once in all the ten thousand 
moons that a soul like hers is born." 


Thereupon a green serpent darts from the bushes, 
glides towards him and stings him on the arm, then at- 
tacks the horse, which succumbs first. Then Chiwantopel 
says to his horse : 

1 ' Adieu, faithful brother! Enter into rest! I have loved you, 
and you have served me well. Adieu. Soon I will rejoin you ! ' 
Then to the snake : ' Thanks, little sister, you have put an end to 
my wanderings' '' 

Then he cried with grief and spoke his prayer : 

! ' Sovereign God, take me soon ! I have tried to know thee, 
and to keep thy law! O, do not suffer my body to fall into cor- 
ruption and decay, and to furnish the vultures with food ! ' A 
smoking crater is perceived . at a distance, the rumbling of an 
earthquake is heard, followed by a trembling of the ground." 

Chiwantopel cries in the delirium of suffering, while 
the earth covers his body : 

" I have kept my body inviolate. Ah ! She understands. Ja- 
ni-wa-ma, Ja-ni-wa-ma, thou who comprehendeth me." 

Chiwantopel's prophecy is a repetition of Longfellow's 
" Hiawatha," where the poet could not escape sentimen- 
tality, and at the close of the career of the hero, Hia- 
watha, he brings in the Savior of the white people, in the 
guise of the arriving illustrious representatives of the 
Christian religion and morals. (One thinks of the work 
of redemption of the Spaniards in Mexico and Peru!) 
With this prophecy of Chiwantopel, the personality of the 
author is again placed in the closest relation to the hero, 
and, indeed, as the real object of Chiwantopel's longing. 


Most certainly the hero would have married her, had she 
lived at his time; but, unfortunately, she comes too late. 
The connection proves our previous assertion that the 
libido moves round in a circle. The author loves herself; 
that is to say, she, as the hero, is sought by one who comes 
too late. This motive of coming too late is characteristic 
of the infantile love: the father and the mother can- 
not be overtaken. The separation of the two personal- 
ities by ten thousand moons is a wish fulfilment; with that 
the incest relation is annulled in an effectual manner. 
This white heroine will seek without being understood. 
(She is not understood, because she cannot understand 
herself rightly. ) And she will not find. But in dreams, 
at least, they will find each other, " and she will under- 
stand." The next sentence of the text reads: 

" I have kept my body inviolate." 

This proud sentence, which naturally only a woman can 
express, because man is not accustomed to boast in that 
direction, again confirms the fact that all enterprises have 
remained but dreams, that the body has remained " invio- 
late." When the hero visits the heroine in a dream, it is 
clear what is meant. This assertion of the hero's, that he 
has remained inviolate, refers back to the unsuccessful 
attempt upon his life in the previous chapter (huntsman 
with the arrow), and clearly explains to us what was 
reaUy meant by this assault; that is to say, the refusal 
of the coitus phantasy. Here the wish of the unconscious 
obtrudes itself again, after the hero had repressed it the 
first time, and thereupon he painfully and hysterically 


utters this monologue. " Temptation will often assail 
her soul but it will not yield." This very bold assertion 
reduces noblesse oblige the unconscious to an enormous 
infantile megalomania, which is always the case when the 
libido is compelled, through similar circumstances, to re- 
gressions. " Only once in all the ten thousand moons is 
a soul born like mine ! " Here the unconscious ego ex- 
pands to an enormous degree, evidently in order to cover 
with its boastfulness a large part of the neglected duty 
of life. But punishment follows at its heels. Whoever 
prides himself too much on having sustained no wound 
in the battle of life lays himself open to the suspicion that 
his fighting has been with words only, whilst actually he 
has remained far away from the firing-line. This spirit is 
just the reverse of the pride of those savage women, 
who point with satisfaction to the countless scars which 
were given them by their men in the sexual fight for 
supremacy. In accordance with this, and in logical 
continuation of the same, all that follows is expressed in 
figurative speech. The orgiastic " Occide moriturus " in 
its admixture with the reckless laughter of the Dionysian 
frenzy confronts us here in sorry disguise with a senti- 
mental stage trickery worthy of our posthumous edition 
of " Christian morals/' In place of the positive phallus, 
the negative appears, and leads the hero's horse (his 
libido animalis), not to satisfaction, but into eternal 
peace also the fate of the hero. This end means that 
the mother, represented as the jaws of death, devours the 
libido of the daughter. Therefore, instead of life and 
procreative growth, only phantastic self-oblivion results. 


This weak and inglorious end has no elevating or illumi- 
nating meaning so long as we consider it merely as the so- 
lution of an individual erotic conflict. The fact that the 
symbols under which the solution takes place have actually 
a significant aspect, reveals to us that behind the individual 
mask, behind the veil of " individuation," a primitive idea 
stands, the severe and serious features of which take from 
us the courage to consider the sexual meaning of the Mil- 
ler symbolism as all-sufficient. 

It is not to be forgotten that the sexual phantasies of 
the neurotic and the exquisite sexual language of* dreams 
are regressive phenomena. The sexuality of the uncon- 
scious is not what it seems to be; it is merely a symbol; 
it is a thought bright as day, clear as sunlight, a decision, 
a step forward to every goal of life but expressed in the 
unreal sexual language of the unconscious, and in the 
thought form of an earlier stage; a resurrection, so to 
speak, of earlier modes of adaptation. When, therefore, 
the unconscious pushes into the foreground the coitus 
wish, negatively expressed, it means somewhat as follows : 
under similar circumstances primitive man acted in such 
and such a manner. The mode of adaptation which to- 
day is unconscious for us is carried on by the savage 
Negro of the present day, whose undertakings beyond 
those of nutrition appertain to sexuality, characterized by 
violence and cruelty. Therefore, in view of the archaic 
mode of expression of the Miller phantasy, we are jus- 
tified in assuming the correctness of our interpretation for 
the lowest and nearest plane only. A deeper stratum of 
meaning underlies the earlier assertion that the figure of 


Chiwantopel has the character of Cassius, who has a lamb 
as a companion. Therefore, Chiwantopel is the portion 
of the dreamer's libido bound up with the mother (and, 
therefore, masculine) ; hence he is her infantile person- 
ality, the childishness of character, which as yet is unable 
to understand that one must leave father and mother, 
when the time is come, in order to serve the destiny of the 
entire personality. This is outlined in Nietzsche's words : 

" Free dost thou call thyself ? Thy dominant thought would 
I hear and not that thou hast thrown off a yoke. Art thou one 
who had the right to throw off a yoke? There are many who 
throw away their last value when they throw away their servi- 

Therefore, when Chiwantopel dies, it means that herein 
is a fulfilment of a wish, that this infantile hero, who 
cannot leave the mother's care, may die. And if with that 
the bond between mother and daughter is severed, a 
great step forward is gained both for inner and outer 
freedom. But man wishes to remain a child too long; he 
would fain stop the turning of the wheel, which, rolling, 
bears along with it the years; man wishes to keep his 
childhood and eternal youth, rather than to die and suffer 
corruption in the grave. (" O, do not suffer my body to 
fall into decay and corruption.") Nothing brings the 
relentless flight of time and the cruel perishability of all 
blossoms more painfully to our consciousness than an in- 
active and empty life. Idle dreaming is the mother of 
the fear of death, the sentimental deploring of what has 
been and the vain turning back of the clock. Although 
man can forget in the long- (perhaps too long) guarded 


feelings of youth, in the dreamy state of stubbornly 
held remembrances, that the wheel rolls onward, never- 
theless mercilessly does the gray hair, the relaxation of 
the skin and the wrinkles in the face tell us, that whether 
or not we expose the body to the destroying powers of 
the whole struggle of life, the poison of the stealthily 
creeping serpent of time consumes our bodies, which, 
alas ! we so dearly love. Nor does it help if we cry out 
with the melancholy hero Chiwantopel, " I have kept my 
body inviolate " ; flight from life does not free us from 
the law of age and death. The neurotic who seeks to 
get rid of the necessities of life wins nothing and lays 
upon himself the frightful burden of a premature age 
and death, which must appear especially cruel on account 
of the total emptiness and meaninglessness of his life. If 
the libido is not permitted to follow the progressive life, 
which is willing to accept all dangers and all losses, then 
it follows the other road, sinking into its own depths, 
working down into the old foreboding regarding the im- 
mortality of all life, to the longing for rebirth. 

Holderlin exemplifies this path in his poetry and his 
life. I leave the poet to speak in his song: 

To the Rose. 

" In the Mother-womb eternal, 
Sweetest queen of every lea, 
Still the living and supernal 
Nature carries thee and me. 

" Little rose, the storm's fierce power 

Strips our leaves and alters us ; 
Yet the deathless germ will tower 
To new blooms, miraculous." 


The following comments may be made upon the par- 
able of this poem : The rose is the symbol of the beloved 
woman (" Haidenroslein," heather rose of Goethe). 
The rose blooms in the " rose-garden" of the maiden; 
therefore, it is also a direct symbol of the libido. When 
the poet dreams that he is with the rose in the mother- 
womb of nature, then, psychologically, the fact is that his 
libido is with the mother. Here is an eternal germination 
and renewal. We have come across this motive already 
in the Hierosgamos hymn (Iliad XIV) : The nuptials 
in the blessed West; that is to say, the union in and with 
the mother. Plutarch shows us this motive in naive form 
in his tradition of the Osiris myth; Osiris and Isis copu- 
lating in the mother's womb. This is also perceived by 
Holderlin as the enviable prerogative of the gods to 
enjoy everlasting infancy. Thus, in Hyperion, he says: 

" Fateless, like the sleeping nursling, 
Breathe the Heavenly ones ; 
Chastely guarded in modest buds, 
Their spirits blossom eternally, 
And their quiet eyes 
Gaze out in placid 
Eternal serenity." 

This quotation shows the meaning of heavenly bliss : 
Holderlin never was able to forget this first and greatest 
happiness, the dreamy picture of which estranged him 
from real life. Moreover, in this poem, the ancient 
motive of the twins in the mother's womb is intimated. 
(Isis and Osiris in the mother's womb.) The motive is 
archaic. There is a legend in Frobenius of how the great 


serpent (appearing from the little serpent in the hollow 
tree, through the so-called stretching out of the serpent) 
has finally devoured all men (devouring mother death), 
and only a pregnant woman remains alive; she digs a 
ditch, covers it with a stone (grave mother's womb), 
and, living there, she gives birth to twins, the subsequent 
dragon-killers (the hero in double form, man and phallus, 
man and woman, man with his libido, the dying and rising 

This existence together in the mother is to be found 
also very beautifully expressed in an African myth (Fro- 
benius) : 

" In the beginning, Obatala, the heaven, and Odudua, the earth, 
his wife, lay pressed firmly together in a calabas." 

The guarding " in a modest bud " is an idea which has 
appeared already in Plutarch, where it is said that the 
sun was born in the morning from a flower bud. Brahma, 
too, comes from the bud, which also gave birth in Assam 
to the first human pair. 

(An unfinished poem.) 

" Scarcely sprouted from the waters, O Earth, 
Are thy old mountain tops and diffuse odors, 
While the first green islands, full of young woods, breathe delight 
Through the May air over the Ocean. 

" And joyfully the eye of the Sun-god looked down 
Upon the firstlings of the trees and flowers ; 
Laughing children of his youth, born from thee; 
When on the fairest of the islands . . . 


Once lay thy most beautiful child under the grapes; 

Lay after a mild night ; in the dawn, 

In the daybreak a child born to thee, O Earth ! 

And the boy looks up familiarly 

To his Father, Helios, 

And, tasting the sweet grapes, 

He picked the sacred vine for his nurse, 

And soon he is grown ; the beasts 

Fear him, for he is different from them : 

This man ; he is not like thee, the father, 

For the lofty soul of the father, 

Is in him boldly united with thy pleasures, 

And thy sadness, O Earth, 

He may resemble the eternal Nature, 

The mother of Gods, the terrible Mother. 

"Ah! therefore, O Earth, 

His presumption drives him away from thy breast, 
And thy gifts are vain, the tender ones ; 
Ever and ever too high does the proud heart beat. 

" Out from the sweet meadow of his shores 
Man must go into the flowerless waters, 
And tho his groves shine with golden fruit, 
Like the starry night, yet he digs, 
He digs caves in the mountains, and seeks in the mines, 
Far from the sacred rays of his father, 
Faithless also to the Sun-god, 
Who does not love weaklings, and mocks at cares. 

" Ah! freer do the birds of the wood breathe: 
Although the breast of man heaves wilder and more proudly, 
His pride becomes fear, and the tender flowers 
Of his peace do not bloom for long." 

This poem betrays to us the beginning of the discord 
between the poet and nature; he begins to be estranged 
from reality, the natural actual existence. It is a re- 


markable idea how the little child chooses " the vine for 
his nurse." This Dionysian allusion is very old. In the 
significant blessing of Jacob it is said of Judah (Genesis, 
chap, xlix, verse 1 1 ) : 

" Binding his foal unto the vine, and his ass's colt unto the 
choice vine." 

A Gnostic gem has been preserved upon which there 
is a representation of an ass suckling her foal, above 
which is the symbol of Cancer, and the circumscription 
D.N.I.H.Y.X.P.S. : Dominus Noster Jesus Christus, with 
the supplement Dei filius. As Justinus Martyr indignantly 
observes, the connections of the Christian legend with that 
of Dionysus are unmistakable. (Compare, for example, 
the miracle of the wine.) In the last-named legend the 
ass plays art important role. Generally speaking, the ass 
has an entirely different meaning in the Mediterranean 
countries than with us an economic one. Therefore, it 
is a benediction when Jacob says (Genesis, chap, xlix, 
verse 14) : 

" Issachar is a strong ass couching down between two burdens." 

The above-mentioned thought is altogether Oriental. 
Just as in Egypt the new-born sun is a bull-calf, in the 
rest of the Orient it can easily be an ass's foal, to whom 
the vine is the nurse. Hence the picture in the blessing 
of Jacob, where it is said of Judah: 

" His eyes are ruddy with wine and his teeth white with milk." 

The mock crucifix of the Palatine, with an ass's head, 
evidently alludes to a very significant background. 


To Nature. 

" While about thy veil I lingered, playing, 

And, like any bud, upon thee hung, 2 
Still I felt thy heart in every straying 

Sound about my heart that shook and clung. 
While I groped with faith and painful yearning, 

To your picture, glowing and unfurled, 
Still I found a place for all my burning 

Tears, and for my love I found a world ! 

" To the Sun my heart, before all others, 
Turned and felt its potent magicry; 

And it called the stars its little brothers, 3 
And it called the Spring, God's melody ; 

And each breeze in groves or woodlands fruity 
Held thy spirit and that same sweet joy 

Moved the well-springs of my heart with beauty- 
Those were golden days without alloy. 

" Where the Spring is cool in every valley, 4 

And the youngest bush and twig is green, 
And about the rocks the grasses rally, 

And the branches show the sky between, 
There I lay, imbibing every flower 

In a rapt, intoxicated glee, 
And, surrounded by a golden shower, 

From their heights the clouds sank down to me. 5 

" Often, as a weary, wandering river 

Longs to join the ocean's placid mirth, 
I have wept and lost myself forever 

In the fulness of thy love, O Earth ! 
Then with all the ardor of my being 

Forth I rushed from Time's slow apathy, 
Like a pilgrim home from travel, fleeing 

To the arms of rapt Eternity. 

"Blessed be childhood's golden dreams, their power 
Hid from me Life's dismal poverty: 


All the heart's rich germs ye brought to flower; 

Things I could not reach, ye gave to me! a 
In thy beauty and thy light, O Nature, 

Free from care and from compulsion free, 
Fruitful Love attained a kingly stature, 

Rich as harvests reaped in Arcady. 

" That which brought me up, is dead and riven, 

Dead the youthful world which was my shield ; 
And this breast, which used to harbor heaven, 

Dead and dry as any stubble-field. 
Still my Springlike sorrows sing and cover 

With their friendly comfort every smart 
But the morning of my life is over 

And the Spring has faded from my heart. . . . 

" Shadows are the things that once we cherished ; 

Love itself must fade and cannot bide; 
Since the golden dreams of youth have perished, 

Even friendly Nature's self has died. 
Heart, poor heart, those days could never show it 

How far-off thy home, and where it lies . . . 
Now, alas, thou nevermore wilt know it 

If a dream of it does not suffice." 


" What gathers about me, Earth, in your dusky, friendly green? 
What are you blowing towards me, Winds, what do you bring 

again ? 
There is a rustling in all the tree-tops. . . . 

" Why do you wake my soul? 
Why do ye stir in me the past, ye Kind ones ? 
Oh, spare me, and let them rest ; oh, do not mock 
Those ashes of my joy. . . . 

" O change your changeless gods 
And grow in your youth over the old ones. 


And if you would be akin to the mortals 

The young girls will blossom for you. 

And the young heroes will shine ; 

And, sweeter than ever, 

Morning will play upon the cheeks of the happy ones; 

And, ravishing-sweet, you will hear 

The songs of those who are without care. . . . 

" Ah, once the living waves of song 
Surged out of every bush to me ; 
And still the heavenly ones glanced down upon me, 
Their eyes shining with joy." 

The separation from the blessedness of childhood, 
from youth even, has taken the golden glamour from 
nature, and the future is hopeless emptiness. But what 
robs nature of its glamour, and life of its joy, is the 
poison of the retrospective longing, which harks back, in 
order to sink into its own depths : 


" Thou seekest life and a godly fire springs to thee, 
Gushing and gleaming, from the deeps of the earth ; 
And, with shuddering longing, 
Throws thee down into the flames of Aetna. 

" So, through a queen's wanton whim, 
Pearls are dissolved in wine restrain her not! 
Didst thou not throw thy riches, Poet, 
Into the bright and bubbling cup! 

" Still thou art holy to me, as the Power of Earth 
Which took thee away, lovely assassin! . . . 
And I would have followed the hero to the depths, 
Had Love not held me." 


This poem betrays the secret longing for the maternal 
depths. 7 

He would like to be sacrificed in the chalice, dissolved 
in wine like pearls (the "crater" of rebirth), yet love 
holds him within the light of day. The libido still has 
an object, for the sake of which life is worth living. But 
were this object abandoned, then the libido would sink 
into the realm of the subterranean, the mother, who 
brings forth again : 

(Unfinished poem.) 

" Daily I go a different path. 
Sometimes into the green wood, sometimes to the bath in the 


Or to the rocks where the roses bloom. 
From the top of the hill I look over the land, 
Yet nowhere, thou lovely one, nowhere in the light do I find 


And in the breezes my words die away, 
The sacred words which once we had. 

" Aye, thou art far away, O holy countenance! 
And the melody of thy life is kept from me, 
No longer overheard. And, ah, where are 
Thy magic songs which once soothed my heart 
With the peace of Heaven? 
How long it is, how long ! 

The youth is aged ; the very earth itself, which once smiled on me, 
Has grown different. 

"Oh, farewell! The soul of every day departs, and, departing, 

turns to thee 
And over thee there weeps 
The eye that, becoming brighter, 
Looks down, 
There where thou tarriest." 


This distinctly suggests a renunciation, an envy of one's 
own youth, that time of freedom which one would like 
to retain through a deep-rooted dislike to all duty and 
endeavor which is denied an immediate pleasure reward. 
Painstaking work for a long time and for a remote object 
is not in the nature of child or primitive man. It is diffi- 
cult to say if this can really be called laziness, but it 
seems to have not a little in common with it, in so far as 
the psychic life on a primitive stage, be it of an infantile 
or archaic type, possesses an extreme inertia and irre- 
sponsibility in production and non-production. 

The last stanza portends evil, a gazing towards the 
other land, the distant coast of sunrise or sunset ; love no 
longer holds the poet, the bonds with the world are torn 
and he calls loudly for assistance to the mother : 


" Lordly son of the Gods! Because you lost your loved one, 
You went to the rocky coast and cried aloud to the flood, 
Till the depths of the holy abyss heard and echoed your grief, 
From the far reaches of your heart. Down, deep down, far 

from the clamor of ships, 
Deep under the waves, in a peaceful cave, 
Dwelt the beautiful Thetis, she who protected you, the Goddess 

of the Sea, 

Mother of the youth was she ; the powerful Goddess, 
She who once had lovingly nursed him, 

On the rocky shore of his island ; she who had made him a hero 
With the might of her strengthening bath and the powerful song 

of the waves. 

And the mother, mourning, hearkened to the cry of her child, 
And rose, like a cloud, from the bed of the sea, 
Soothing with tender embraces the pains of her darling; 
And he listened, while she, caressing, promised to soften his grief. 


" Son of the Gods ! Oh, were I like you, then could I confidently 
Call on the Heavenly Ones to hearken to my secret grief. 
But never shall I see this I shall bear the disgrace 
As if I never belonged to her, even though she thinks of me with 


Beneficent Ones ! And yet Ye hear the lightest prayers of men. 
Ah, how rapt and fervently I worshipped you, holy Light, 
Since I have lived, the Earth and its fountains and woodlands, 
Father Ether and my heart has felt you about me, so ardent 

and pure 

Oh, soften my sorrows, ye Kind Ones, 
That my soul may not be silenced, may not be struck dumb too 


That I may live and thank Ye, O Heavenly Powers, 
With joyful songs through all the hurrying days. 
Thank ye for gifts of the past, for the joys of vanished Youth 
And then, pray, take me, the lonely one, 
Graciously, unto yourselves." 

These poems describe more plainly than could be de- 
picted with meagre words the persistent arrest and the 
constantly growing estrangement from life, the gradual 
deep immersion into the maternal abyss of the individual 
being. The apocalyptic song of Patmos is strangely re- 
lated to these songs of retrogressive longing. It enters 
as a dismal guest surrounded by the mist of the depths, 
the gathering clouds of insanity, bred through the mother. 
In it the primitive thoughts of the myth, the suggestion 
clad in symbols, of the sun-like death and resurrection of 
life, again burst forth. Similar things are to be found in 
abundance among sick people of this sort. 

I reproduce some significant fragments from Patmos : 

" Near is the God 
And hard to comprehend, 


But where Danger threatens 
The Rescuer appears." 

These words mean that the libido has now sunk to the 
lowest depths, where " the danger is great." (Faust, 
Part II, Mother scene.) There "the God is near"; 
there man may find the inner sun, his own nature, sun- 
like and self-renewing, hidden in the mother-womb like 
the sun in the nighttime : 

". . . In Chasms 
And in darkness dwell 
The eagles; and fresh and fearlessly 
The Sons of the Alps pass swiftly over the abyss 
Upon lightly swinging bridges." 

With these words the dark phantastic poem passes on. 
The eagle, the bird of the sun, dwells in darkness the 
libido has hidden itself, but high above it the inhabitants 
of the mountains pass, probably the gods (" Ye are walk- 
ing above in the light"), symbols of the sun wandering 
across the sky, like the eagle flying over the depths : 

". . . Above and around are reared 
The summits of Time, 
And the loved ones, though near, 
Live on deeply separated mountains. 
So give us waters of innocence, 
And give us wings of true understanding, 
With which to pass across and to return again." 

The first is a gloomy picture of the mountains and of 
time although caused by the sun wandering over the 
mountains, the following picture a nearness, and at the 


same time separation, of the lovers, and seems to hint at 
life in the underworld, 8 where he is united with all that 
once was dear to him, and yet cannot enjoy the happiness 
of reunion, because it is all shadows and unreal and devoid 
of life. Here the one who descends drinks the waters of 
innocence, the waters of childhood, the drink of rejuve- 
nation, 9 so wings may grow, and, winged, he may soar up 
again into life, like the winged sun, which arises like a 
swan from the water ("Wings, to pass across and to 
return again ") : 

". . . So I spoke, and lo, a genie 
Carried me off, swifter than I had imagined, 
And farther than ever I had thought 
From my own house! 
It grew dark 
As I went in the twilight. 
The shadowy wood, 

And the yearning brooks of my home-land 
Grew vague behind me 
And I knew the country no longer." 

After the dark and obscure words of the introduction, 
wherein the poet expresses the prophecy of what is to 
come, the sun journey begins ("night journey in the 
sea ") towards the east, towards the ascent, towards the 
mystery of eternity and rebirth, of which Nietzsche also 
dreams, and which he expressed in significant words : 

" Oh, how could I not be ardent for eternity, and for the nup- 
tial ring of rings the ring of the return! Never yet have I 
found the woman from whom I wish children, unless she would 
be this woman whom I love ; for I love thee, O eternity." 


Holderlin expresses this same longing in a beautiful 
symbol, the individual traits of which are already familiar 
to us: 

". . . But soon in a fresh radiance 

Blossoming in golden smoke, 
With the rapidly growing steps of the sun, 
Making a thousand summits fragrant, 
Asia arose ! 
And, dazzled, 

I sought one whom I knew; 
For unfamiliar to me were the broad roads, 
Where from Tmolus 
Comes the gilded Pactol, 
And Taurus stands and Messagis 
And the gardens are full of flowers. 
But high up in the light 
The silvery snow gleams, a silent fire ; 
And, as a symbol of eternal life, 
On the impassable walls, 
Grows the ancient ivy. 10 

And carried by columns of living cedars and laurels 
Are the solemn, divinely built palaces." 

The symbol is apocalyptic, the maternal city in the 
land of eternal youth, surrounded by the verdure and 
flowers of imperishable spring. 11 The poet identifies him- 
self here with John, who lived on Patmos, who was once 
associated with " the sun of the Highest," and saw him 
face to face : 

" There at the Mystery of the Vine they met, 
There at the hour of the Holy Feast they gathered, 
And feeling the approach of Death in his great, quiet soul, 


The Lord, pouring out his last love, spoke, 

And then he died. 

Much could be said of it 

How his triumphant glance, 

The happiest of all, 

Was seen by his companions, even at the last. 

Therefore he sent the Spirit unto them, 

And the house trembled, solemnly; 

And, with distant thunder, 

The storm of God rolled over the cowering heads 

Where, deep in thought, 

The heroes of death were assembled. . . . 

Now, when he, in parting, 

Appeared once more before them, 

Then the kingly day, the day of the sun, was put out, 

And the gleaming sceptre, formed of his rays, 

Was broken and suffered like a god itself. 

Yet it shall return and glow again 

When the right time comes." 

The fundamental pictures are the sacrificial death and 
the resurrection of Christ, like the self-sacrifice of the 
sun, which voluntarily breaks its sceptre, the fructifying 
rays, in the certain hope of resurrection. The following 
comments are to be noted in regard to " the sceptre of 
rays " : Spielrein's patient says, " God pierces through 
the earth with his rays." The earth, in the patient's mind, 
has the meaning of woman. She also comprehends the 
sunbeam in mythologic fashion as something solid: 
" Jesus Christ has shown me his love, by striking against 
the window with a sunbeam." Among other insane pa- 
tients I have come across the same idea of the solid sub- 
stance of the sunbeam. Here there is also a hint of the 


phallic nature of the instrument which is associated with 
the hero. Thor's hammer, which, cleaving the earth, 
penetrates deeply into it, may be compared to the foot of 
Kaineus. The hammer is retained in the interior of the 
earth, like the treasure, and, in the course of time, it 
gradually comes again to the surface ( u the treasure 
blooms"), meaning that it was born again from the 
earth. (Compare what has been said concerning the 
etymology of " swelling/') On many monuments Mithra 
holds a peculiar object in his hands, which Cumont com- 
pares to a half-filled tube. Dieterich proves from his 
papyrus text that the object is the shoulder of the bull, 
the bear constellation. The shoulder has an indirect 
phallic meaning, for it is the part which is wanting in 
Pelops. Pelops was slaughtered by his father, Tantalus, 
dismembered, and boiled in a kettle, to make a meal for 
the gods. Demeter had unsuspectingly eaten the shoulder 
from this feast, when Zeus discovered the outrage. He 
had the pieces thrown back into the kettle, and, with the 
help of the life-dispensing Clotho, Pelops was regen- 
erated, and the shoulder which was missing was replaced 
by an ivory one. This substitution is a close parallel to 
the substitution of the missing phallus of Osiris. Mithra 
is represented in a special ceremony, holding the bull's 
shoulder over Sol, his son and vice-regent. This scene 
may be compared to a sort of dedication, or accolade 
(something like the ceremony of confirmation). The 
blow of the hammer as a generating, fructifying, inspir- 
ing function is retained as a folk-custom and expressed 
by striking with the twig of life, which has the significance 


of a charm of fertility. In the neuroses, the sexual mean- 
ing of castigation plays an important part, for among 
many children castigation may elicit a sexual orgasm. 
The ritual act of striking has the same significance of 
generating (fructifying) , and is, indeed, merely a variant 
of the original phallic ceremonial. Of similar character 
to the bull's shoulder is the cloven hoof of the devil, to 
which a sexual meaning also appertains. The ass's jaw- 
bone wielded by Samson has the same worth. In the 
Polynesian Maui myth the jawbone, the weapon of the 
hero, is derived from the man-eating woman, Muri- 
ranga-whenua, whose body swells up enormously from 
lusting for human flesh (Frobenius). Hercules' club is 
made from the wood of the maternal olive tree. Faust's 
key also " knows the mothers." The libido springs from 
the mother, and with this weapon alone can man over- 
come death. 

It corresponds to the phallic nature of the ass's jaw- 
bone, that at the place where Samson threw it God caused 
a spring to gush forth 12 (springs from the horse's tread, 
footsteps, horse's hoof). To this relation of meanings 
belongs the magic wand, the sceptre in general. 
^HrJTtrpov belongs to Guanos, Gnrj-rtoivcav, GHrjn&v = 
staff; GHrjTTToz = storm-wind; Latin scapus = shaft, 
stock, scapula, shoulder; Old High German Scaft 
spear, lance. 13 We meet once more in this compilation 
those connections which are already well known to us: 
Sun-phallus as tube of the winds, lance and shoulder- 

The passage from Asia through Patmos to the Chris- 


tian mysteries in the poem of Holderlin is apparently a 
superficial connection, but in reality a very ingenious train 
of thought; namely, the entrance into death and the land 
beyond as a self-sacrifice of the hero, for the attainment 
of immortality. At this time, when the sun has set, when 
love is apparently dead, man awaits in mysterious joy 
the renewal of all life : 

". . . And Joy it was 
From now on 

To live in the loving night and see 
The eyes of innocence hold the unchanging 
Depths of all wisdom." 

Wisdom dwells in the depths, the wisdom of the mother : 
being one with it, insight is obtained into the meaning 
of deeper things, into all the deposits of primitive times, 
the strata of which have been preserved in the soul. 
Holderlin, in his diseased ecstasy, feels once more the 
greatness of the things seen, but he does not care to bring 
up to the light of day that which he had found in the 
depths in this he differs from Faust. 

" And it is not an evil, if a few 
Are lost and never found, and if the speech 
Conceals the living sound ; 
Because each godly work resembles ours; 
And yet the Highest does not plan it all 
The great pit bears two irons, 
And the glowing lava of Aetna. . . . 
Would I had the power 
To build an image and see the Spirit 
See it as it was! " 


He allows only one hope to glimmer through, formed 
in scanty words : 

" He wakes the dead ; 
They who are not enchained and bound, 
They who are not unwrought. 
. . . And if the Heavenly Ones 
Now, as I believe, love me 
. . . Silent is his sign 14 
In the dusky sky. And one stands under it 
His whole life long for Christ still lives." 

But, as once Gilgamesh, bringing back the magic herb 
from the west land, was robbed of his treasure by the 
demon serpent, so does Holderlin's poem die away in a 
painful lament, which betrays to us that no victorious res- 
urrection will follow his descent to the shadows : 

". . . Ignominiously 
A power tears our heart away, 
For sacrifices the heavenly ones demand." 

This recognition, that man must sacrifice the retro- 
gressive longing (the incestuous libido) before the 
" heavenly ones " tear away the sacrifice, and at the same 
time the entire libido, came too late to the poet. There- 
fore, I take it to be a wise counsel which the unconscious 
gives our author, to sacrifice the infantile hero. This 
sacrifice is best accomplished, as is shown by the most 
obvious meaning, through a complete devotion to life, 
in which all the libido unconsciously bound up in familial 
bonds, must be brought outside into human contact. For 
it is necessary for the well-being of the adult individual, 


who in his childhood was merely an atom revolving in 
a rotary system, to become himself the centre of a new 
system. That such a step implies the solution or, at least, 
the energetic treatment of the individual sexual problem 
is obvious, for unless this is done the unemployed libido 
will inexorably remain fixed in the incestuous bond, and 
will prevent individual freedom in essential matters. Let 
us keep in mind that Christ's teaching separates man from 
his family without consideration, and in the talk with 
Nicodemus we saw the specific endeavor of Christ to pro- 
cure activation of the incest libido. Both tendencies serve 
the same goal the liberation of man; the Jew from his 
extraordinary fixation to the family, which does not imply 
higher development, but greater weakness and more un- 
controlled incestuous feeling, prpduced the compensation 
of the compulsory ceremonial of the cult and the re- 
ligious fear of the incomprehensible Jehovah. When 
man, terrified by no laws and no furious fanatics or 
prophets, allows his incestuous libido full play, and does 
not liberate it for higher purposes, then he is under the 
influence of unconscious compulsion. For compulsion is 
the unconscious wish. (Freud.) He is under the domi- 
nance of the libido eipapfAevr)* and his destiny does not 
lie in his own hands ; his adventures, TV^OLI nal Moipai,\ 
fall from the stars. His unconscious incestuous libido, 
which thus is applied in its most primitive form, fixes the 
man, as regards his love type, in a corresponding primi- 
tive stage, the stage of ungovernableness and surrender 
to the emotions. Such was the psychologic situation of 

* Fate. t Chances and fates. 


the passing antiquity, and the Redeemer and Physician 
of that time was he who endeavored to educate man to 
the sublimation of the incestuous libido. 15 The destruc- 
tion of slavery was the necessary condition of that sub- 
limation, for antiquity had not yet recognized the duty 
of work and work as a duty, as a social need of funda- 
mental importance. Slave labor was compulsory work, 
the counterpart of the equally disastrous compulsion of 
the libido of the privileged. It was only the obligation 
of the individual to work which made possible in the 
long run that regular " drainage " of the unconscious, 
which was inundated by the continual regression of the 
libido. Indolence is the beginning of all vice, because 
in a condition of slothful dreaming the libido has 
abundant opportunity for sinking into itself, in order to 
create compulsory obligations by means of regressively re- 
animated incestuous bonds. The best liberation is 
through regular work. 16 Work, however, is salvation 
only when it is a free act, and has in itself noth- 
ing of infantile compulsion. In this respect, religious 
ceremony appears in a high degree as organized inactiv- 
ity, and at the same time as the forerunner of modern 

Miss Miller's vision treats the problem of the sacri- 
fice of the infantile longing, in the first place, as an indi- 
vidual problem, but if we cast a glance at the form of 
this presentation, then we will become aware that here it 
must concern something, which is also a problem of hu- 
manity in general. For the symbols employed, the ser- 
pent which killed the horse 1T and the hero voluntarily 


sacrificing himself, are primitive figures of phanta- 
sies and religious myths streaming up from the uncon- 

In so far as the world and all within it is, above all, 
a thought, which is credited with transcendental " sub- 
stance " through the empirical need of the same, there 
results from the sacrifice of the regressive libido the crea- 
tion of the world; and, psychologically speaking, the world 
in general. For him who looks backward the world, and 
even the infinite starry sky, is the mother 18 who bends 
over and encloses him on all sides, and from the renun- 
ciation of this idea and from the longing for this idea 
arises the image of the world. From this most simple 
fundamental thought, which perhaps appears strange to 
us only because it is conceived according to the principle 
of desire and not the principle of reality, 19 results the 
significance of the cosmic sacrifice. A good example of 
this is the slaying of the Babylonian primitive mother 
Tiamat, the dragon, whose body is destined to form the 
heaven and the earth. We come upon this thought in its 
most complete form in Hindoo philosophy of the most 
ancient date; namely, in songs of Rigveda. In Rigveda 
10: 8 1, 4, the song inquires: 

" What was the tree, what wood in sooth produced it, from which 

they fashioned out the earth and heaven ? 

Ye thoughtful men inquire within your spirit, whereon he stood 
when he established all things." 

Vigvakarman, the All-Creator, who created the world 
from the unknown tree, did so as follows : 


" He who, sacrificing, entered into all these beings 
As a wise sacrificer, our Father, who, 
Striving for blessings through prayer, 
Hiding his origin, 
Entered this lowly world, 
What and who has served him 
As a resting-place and a support? " 20 

Rigveda 10: 90, gives answer to these questions. 
Purusha is the primal being who 

". . . covered earth on every side and 
Spread ten fingers' breadth beyond." 

One sees that Purusha is a sort of Platonic world soul, 
who surrounds the world from without. Of Purusha it 
is said: 

" Being born he overtopped the earth 
Before, behind, and in all places." 

The mother symbolism is plain, it seems to me, in the 
idea of Purusha. He represents the mother-imago and 
the libido of the child clinging to her. From this as- 
sumption all that follows is very easily explained : 

" As sacrificial animal on the bed of straw 
Was dedicated the Purusha, 
Who was born on the straw, 
Whom the Gods, the Blest, and the Wise, 
Meeting there, sacrificed." 

This verse is very remarkable ; if one wishes to stretch 
this mythology out on the procrustean bed of logic, sore 
violence would have to be committed. It is an incredibly 


phantastic conception that, beside the gods, ordinary 
" wise men " unite in sacrificing the primitive being, aside 
from the circumstance that, beside the primitive being, 
nothing had existed in the beginning (that is to say, before 
the sacrifice), as we shall soon see. If the great mystery 
of the mother sacrifice is meant thereby, then all becomes 
clear : 

" From that great general sacrifice 
The dripping fat was gathered up. 
He formed the creatures of the air, 
And animals both wild and tame. 
From that great general sacrifice 
Richas and Sama-hymns were born; 
Therefrom the metres were produced, 
The Yajus had its birth from it. 

" The moon was gendered from his mind 
And from his eye the Sun had birth ; 
Indra and Agni from his mouth 
Were born, and Vayu from his breath. 

" Forth from his navel came midair ; 
The sky was fashioned from his head ; 
Earth from his feet, and from his ears 
The regions. Thus they formed the worlds." 

It is evident that by this is meant not a physical, but a 
psychological cosmogony. The world arises when man 
discovers it. He discovers it when he sacrifices the 
mother; that is to say, when he has freed himself from 
the midst of his unconscious lying in the mother. That 
which impels him forward to this discovery may be in- 
terpreted psychologically as the so-called " Incest bar- 


Her " of Freud. The incest prohibition places an end to 
the childish longing for the food-giving mother, and com- 
pels the libido, gradually becoming sexual, into the path 
of the biological aim. The libido forced away from the 
mother by the incest prohibition seeks for the sexual ob- 
ject in the place of the forbidden mother. In this wider 
psychologic sense, which expresses itself in the allegoric 
language of the " incest prohibition," " mother," etc., 
must be understood Freud's paradoxical sentence, " Orig- 
inally we have known only sexual objects." 21 This sen- 
tence must be understood psychologically throughout, in 
the sense of a world image created from within out- 
wards, which has, in the first place, nothing to do with 
the so-called " objective " idea of the world. This is to 
be understood as a new edition of the subjective idea of 
the world corrected by reality. Biology, as a science of 
objective experience, would have to reject uncondition- 
ally Freud's proposition, for, as we have made clear 
above, the function of reality can only be partly sexual; 
in another equally important part it is self-preservation. 
The matter appears different for that thought which ac- 
companies the biological function as an epiphenomenon. 
As far as our knowledge reaches, the individual act of 
thought is dependent wholly or in greatest part on the 
existence of a highly differentiated brain, whereas the 
function of reality (adaptation to reality) is something 
which occurs in all living nature as wholly independent 
from the act of thought. This important proposition of 
Freud's applies only to the act of thought, for thinking, 
as we may recognize from manifold traces, arose dynami- 


cally from the libido, which was split off from the original 
object at the " incest barrier " and became actual when 
the first budding sexual emotions began to flow in the 
current of the libido which goes to the mother. Through 
the incest barrier the sexual libido is forced away from the 
identification with the parents, and introverted for lack 
of adequate activity. It is the sexual libido which forces 
the growing individual slowly away from his family. If 
this necessity did not exist, then the family would always 
remain clustered together in a solid group. Hence the 
neurotic always renounces a complete erotic experience, 22 
in order that he may remain a child. Phantasies seem to 
arise from the introversion of the sexual libido. Since the 
first childish phantasies most certainly do not attain the 
quality of a conscious plan, and as phantasies likewise (even 
among adults) are almost always the direct derivates of 
the unconscious, it is, therefore, highly probable that the 
first phantastic manifestations arise from an act of re- 
gression. As we illustrated earlier, the regression goes 
back to the presexual stage, as many traces show. Here 
the sexual libido obtains again, so to speak, that universal 
capacity of application, or capacity for displacement, 
which it actually possessed at that stage when the sexual 
application was not yet discovered. Naturally, no ade- 
quate object is found in the presexual stage for the regres- 
sive sexual libido, but only surrogates, which always leave 
a wish; namely, the wish to have the surrogate as similar 
as possible to the sexual goal. This wish is secret, how- 
ever, for it is really an incest wish. The unsatisfied un- 
conscious wish creates innumerable secondary objects, 


symbols for the primitive object, the mother (as the 
Rigveda says, the creator of the world, " hiding his 
origin," enters into things). From this the thought or 
the phantasies proceed, as a desexualized manifestation 
of an originally sexual libido. 

From the standpoint of the libido, the term " incest 
barrier " corresponds to one aspect, but the matter, how- 
ever, may be considered from another point of view. 

The time of undeveloped sexuality, about the third 
and the fourth year, is, at the same time, considered exter- 
nally, the period when the child finds himself confronted 
with increased demands from the world of reality. He 
can walk, speak and independently attend to a number 
of other things. He sees himself in a relation to a 
world of unlimited possibilities, but in which he dares 
to do little or nothing, because he is as yet too much of 
a baby and cannot get on without his mother. At this 
time mother should be exchanged for the world. Against 
this the past rises as the greatest resistance; this is 
always so whenever man would undertake a new adapta- 
tion. In spite of all evidence and against all conscious 
resolutions, the unconscious (the past) always enforces 
its standpoint as resistance. In this difficult position, pre- 
cisely at this period of developing sexuality, we see the 
dawning of the mind. The problem of the child at this 
period is the discovery of the world and of the great trans- 
subjective reality. For that he must lose the mother; 
every step out into the world means a step away from 
the mother. Naturally, all that which is retrogressive in 
men rebels against this step, and energetic attempts are 


made against this adaptation in the first place. There- 
fore, this period of life is also that in which the first 
clearly developed neuroses arise. The tendency of this 
age is one directly opposed to that of dementia praecox. 
The child seeks to win the world and to leave the mother 
(this is a necessary result). The dementia praecox pa- 
tient, however, seeks to leave the world and to regain the 
subjectivity of childhood. We have seen that in de- 
mentia praecox the recent adaptation to reality is replaced 
by an archaic mode of adaptation; that is to say, the 
recent idea of the world is rejected in favor of an archaic 
idea of the world. When the child renounces his task of 
adaptation to reality, or has considerable difficulties in 
this direction, then we may expect that the recent adapta- 
tion will again be replaced by archaic modes of adapta- 
tion. It would, therefore, be conceivable that through 
regression in children archaic products would naturally 
be unearthed; that is to say, old ways of functioning of 
the thought system, which is inborn with the brain dif- 
ferentiation, would be awakened. 

According to my available but as yet unpublished ma- 
terial, a remarkably archaic and at the same time gen- 
erally applicable character seems to appertain to infantile 
phantasy, quite comparable with the products of demen- 
tia praecox. It does not seem improbable that through 
regression at this age those same associations of elements 
and analogies are reawakened which formerly constituted 
the archaic idea of the world. When we now attempt to 
investigate the nature of these elements, a glance at the 
psychology of myths is sufficient to show us that the 


archaic idea was chiefly sexual anthropomorphism. It ap- 
pears that these things in the unconscious childish phan- 
tasy play an extraordinary role, as we can recognize 
from examples taken at random. Just as the sexualism of 
neuroses is not to be taken literally but as regressive phan- 
tasy and symbolic compensation for a recent unachieved 
adaptation, so is the sexualism of the early infantile 
phantasy, especially the incest problem, a regressive 
product of the revival of the archaic modes of function, 
outweighing actuality. On this account I have expressed 
myself very vaguely in this work, I am sure, in regard to 
the incest problem. This is done in order not to be re- 
sponsible for the idea that I understand by it a gross 
sexual inclination towards the parents. The true facts 
of the case are much more complicated, as my investiga- 
tions point out. Originally incest probably never pos- 
sessed particularly great significance as such, because 
cohabitation with an old woman for all possible motives 
could hardly be preferred to mating with a young woman. 
It seems that the mother has acquired incestuous sig- 
nificance only psychologically. Thus, for example, the 
incestuous unions of antiquity were not a result of a love 
inclination, but of a special superstition, which is most 
intimately bound up with the mythical ideas here treated. 
A Pharaoh of the second dynasty is said to have mar- 
ried his sister, his daughter and his granddaughter; the 
Ptolemies were accustomed also to marriage with sis- 
ters; Kambyses married his sister; Artaxerxes married 
his two daughters; Qobad I (sixth century A. D.) mar- 
ried his daughter. The Satrap Sysimithres married his 


mother. These incestuous unions are explained by the 
circumstance that in the Zend Avesta the marriage of rela- 
tives was directly commanded; 23 it emphasized the re- 
semblance of rulers to the divinity, and, therefore, was 
more of an artificial than a natural arrangement, because 
it originated more from a theoretical than from a bio- 
logical inclination. (A practical impetus towards that lay 
often in the peculiar laws of inheritance left over from the 
Mutter recht, u maternal right" [matriarchal], period.) 
The confusion which certainly frequently involved the 
barbarians of antiquity in regard to the choice of their 
sexual objects cannot very well be measured by the stand- 
ard of present-day love psychology. In any case, the 
incest of the semi-animal past is in no way proportionate 
to the enormous significance of the incest phantasy among 
civilized people. This disproportion enforces the as- 
sumption that the incest prohibition which we meet even 
amongst relatively lower races concerns rather the mythi- 
cal ideas than the biological damage; therefore, the 
ethnical prohibition almost always concerns the mother 
and seldom the father. Incest prohibition can be under- 
stood, therefore, as a result of regression, and as the 
result of a libidinous anxiety, which regressively attacks 
the mother. Naturally, it is difficult or impossible to 
say from whence this anxiety may have come. I merely 
venture to suggest that it may have been a question of a 
primitive separation of the pairs of opposites which are 
hidden in the will of life : the will for life and for death. 
It remains obscure what adaptation the primitive man 
tried to evade through introversion and regression to the 


parents; but, according to the analogy of the soul life 
in general, it may be assumed that the libido, which dis- 
turbed the initial equilibrium of becoming and of ceasing 
to be, had been stored up in the attempt to make an 
especially difficult adaptation, and from which it recedes 
even today. 

After this long digression, let us turn back to the song 
of the Rigveda. Thinking and a conception of the world 
arose from a shrinking back from stern reality, and 
it is only after man has regressively assured himself 
again of the protective parental power 24 that he enters 
life wrapped in a dream of childhood shrouded in magic 
superstititions; that is to say, "thinking," 25 for he, tim- 
idly sacrificing his best and assuring himself of the favor 
of the invisible powers, step by step develops to greater 
power, in the degree that he frees himself from his retro- 
gressive longing and the original lack of harmony in his 

Rigveda 10, 90, concludes with the exceedingly sig- 
nificant verse, which is of greatest importance for the 
Christian mysteries as well : 

" Gods, sacrificing, rendered homage to the sacrifice : these were 

the earliest holy ordinances, 

The mighty ories attained the height of heaven, there where the 
Sadhyas, goddesses of old, are dwelling." 

Through the sacrifice a fulness of power was attained, 
which extends up to the power of the " parents." Thus 
the sacrifice has also the meaning of a psychologic matu- 
ration process. 


In the same manner that the world originated through 
sacrifice, through the renunciation of the retrospective 
mother libido, thus, according to the teachings of the 
Upanishads, is produced the new condition of man, which 
may be termed the immortal. This new condition is 
again attained through a sacrifice; namely, through the 
sacrificial horse which is given a cosmic significance in the 
teaching of the Upanishads. What the sacrificial horse 
means is told by Brihadaranyaka-Upanishad i : i : 


" i. The dawn is truly the head of the sacrificial horse, the sun 
his eye, the wind his breath, his mouth the all-spreading fire, the 
year is the body of the sacrificial horse. The sky is his back, the 
atmosphere his body cavity, the earth the vault of his belly, the 
poles are his sides, the space between the poles his ribs, the seasons 
his limbs, the months and half-months his joints, day and night 
his feet, the stars his bones, the clouds his flesh, the food, which he 
digests, are the deserts; the rivers, his veins; liver and lungs, the 
mountains ; the herbs and trees, his hair ; the rising sun is his fore- 
part, the setting sun his hind-part. When he shows his teeth, that 
is lightning ; when he trembles, that is thunder ; when he urinates, 
that is rain ; his voice is speech. 

" 2. The day, in truth, has originated for the horse as the 
sacrificial dish, which stands before him ; his cradle is in the world- 
sea towards the East; the night has originated for him as the sac- 
rificial dish, which stands behind him ; its cradle is in the world-sea 
of the evening; these two dishes originated in order to surround 
the horse. As a charger he generated the gods, as champion he 
produced the Gandharvas, as a racer the demons, as horse man- 
kind. The Ocean is his relative, the ocean his cradle." 

As Deussen remarks, the sacrificial horse has the sig- 
nificance of a renunciation of the universe. When the 
horse is sacrificed, then the world is sacrificed and de- 


stroyed, as it were a train of thought which Schopen- 
hauer also had in mind, and which appears as a product of 
a diseased mind in Schreber. 26 The horse in the above 
text stands between two sacrificial vessels, from one of 
which it comes and to the other of which it goes, just as 
the sun passes from morning to evening. The horse, 
therefore, signifies the libido, which has passed into the 
world. We previously saw that the " mother libido " 
must be sacrificed in order to produce the world; here the 
world is destroyed by the repeated sacrifice of the same 
libido, which once belonged to the mother. The horse 
can, therefore, be substituted as a symbol for this libido, 
because, as we saw, it had manifold connections with 
the mother. 27 The sacrifice of the horse can only 
produce another state of introversion, which is sim- 
ilar to that before the creation of the world. The 
position of the horse between the two vessels, which rep- 
resent the producing and the devouring mother, hint at 
the idea of life enclosed in the ovum; therefore, the ves- 
sels are destined to u surround " the horse. That this 
is actually so the Brihadaranyaka-Upanishad 3 : 3 proves : 

" I. From where have the descendants of Parikshit come, that 
I ask thee, Yajnavalkya! From where came the descendants of 
Parikshit ? 

"2. Yajnavalkya spake: 'He has told thee, they have come 
from where all come, who offer up the sacrificial horse. That is 
to say, this world extends so far as two and thirty days of the 
chariot of the Gods (the sun) reach. This (world) surrounds 
the earth twice around. This earth surrounds the ocean twice 
around. There is, as broad as the edge of a razor or as the wing 
of a fly, a space between (the two shells of the egg of the world). 


These were brought by Indra as a falcon to the wind : and the 
wind took them up into itself and carried them where were the 
offerers of the sacrificial horse. Somewhat like this he spoke 
(Gandharva to thee) and praised the wind.' 

" Therefore is the wind the special (vyashti) and the wind the 
universal (samashti). He, who knows this, defends himself from 
dying again." 

As this text tells us, the offerers of the sacrificial horse 
come in that narrowest fissure between the shells of the 
egg of the world, at that place, where the shells unite and 
where they are divided. The fissure (vagina) in the ma- 
ternal world soul is designated by Plato in " Timaeus " by 
X, the symbol of the cross. Indra, who as a falcon has 
stolen the soma (the treasure attainable with difficulty), 
brings, as Psychopompos, the souls to the wind, to the 
generating pneuma, which carries them forward to the 
fissure or vagina, to the point of union, to the entrance 
into the maternal egg. This train of thought of the 
Hindoo philosophy briefly and concisely summarizes the 
sense of innumerable myths; at the same time it is a 
striking example of the fact that philosophy is internally 
nothing else but a refined and sublimated mythology. It 
is brought to this refined state by the influence of the cor- 
rector of reality. 28 We have emphasized the fact that 
in the Miller drama the horse is the first to die, as the 
animal brother of the hero. (Corresponding to the early 
death of the half-animal Eabani, the brother friend of 
Gilgamesh.) This sacrificial death recalls the whole 
category of mythological animal sacrifices. Volumes 
could be filled with parallels, but we must limit ourselves 
here to suggestions. The sacrificial animal, where it has 


lost the primitive meaning of the simple sacrificial gift, 
and has taken a higher religious significance, stands in a 
close relation to both the hero and the divinity. The 
animal represents the god himself; 29 thus the bull 30 rep- 
resents Zagreus, Dionysus and Mithra; the lamb repre- 
sents Christ, 31 etc. As we are aware, the animal symbols 
represent the animal libido. The sacrifice of the animal 
means, therefore, the sacrifice of the animal nature. This 
is most clearly expressed in the religious legend of Attis. 
Attis is the son lover of the divine mother, Agdistis Cybele. 
Agdistis was characteristically androgynous, 32 as symbol 
of the mother-libido, like the tree; really a clear indica- 
tion that the mother-imago has in addition to the sig- 
nificance of the likeness of the real mother the meaning 
of the mother of humanity, the libido in general. Driven 
mad by the insanity-breeding mother enamored of him, 
he emasculates himself, and that under a pine tree. (The 
pine tree plays an important role in his service. Every 
year a pine tree was wreathed about and upon it an 
image of Attis was hung, and then it was cut down, which 
represents the castration.) The blood, which spurted to 
the earth, was transformed into budding violets. Cybele 
now took this pine tree, bore it into her cavern and there 
wept over it. (Pieta.) The chthonic mother takes her 
son with her into the cavern namely, into the womb 
according to another version. Attis was transformed into 
the pine tree. The tree here has an essentially phallic 
meaning; on the contrary, the attaching of the image of 
Attis to the tree refers also to the maternal meaning. 
(" To be attached to the mother.") In Ovid (" Meta- 


morphoses," Book X) the pine tree is spoken of as 
follows : 

" Grata deum matri, siquidem Cybeleius Attis 
Exuit hac hominem, truncoque induruit illo." * 

The transformation into the pine tree is evidently a 
burial in the mother, just as Osiris was overgrown by the 
heather. Upon the Attis bas-relief of Coblenz Attis ap- 
pears growing out of a tree, which is interpreted by 
Mannhardt as the " life-principle " of vegetation inherent 
in the tree. It is probably a tree birth, just as with 
Mithra. (Relief of Heddernheim.) As Firmicus ob- 
serves, in the Isis and Osiris cult and also in the cult of 
the virgin Persephone, tree and image had played a 
role. 33 Dionysus had the surname Dendrites, and in 
Boeotia he is said to have been called wderdpo?, 
meaning " in a tree." (At the birth of Dionysus, Me- 
gaira planted the pine tree on the Kithairon.) The Pen- 
theus myth bound up with the Dionysus legend furnishes 
the remarkable and supplementary counterpart to the 
death of Attis, and the subsequent lamentation. Pen- 
theus, 34 curious to espy the orgies of the Maenades, 
climbed upon a pine tree, but he was observed by his 
mother; the Maenades cut down the tree, and Pentheus, 
taken for an animal, was torn by them in frenzy, 35 his 
own mother being the first to rush upon him. In this 
myth the phallic meaning of the tree (cutting down, cas- 
tration) and its maternal significance (mounting and the 

* Beloved of the mother of the gods, inasmuch as the Cybeline Attis 
sheds his human shape in this way and stiffens into this tree trunk. 


sacrificial death of the son) is present; at the same time 
the supplementary counterpart to the Pieta is apparent, 
the " terrible mother." The feast of Attis was cele- 
brated as a lamentation and then as a joy in the spring. 
(Good Friday and Easter.) The priests of Attis-Cybele 
worship were often eunuchs, and were called Galloi. 38 
The archigallus was called Atys (Attis). 37 Instead of 
the animal castration, the priests merely scratched their 
arms until they bled. (Arm in place of phallus, " the 
twisting of arms.") A similar symbolism of the sac- 
rificial impulse is met in the Mithraic religion, where es- 
sential parts of the mysteries consist in the catching and 
the subduing of the bull. 

A parallel figure to Mithra is the primitive man Gayo- 
mard. He was created together with his bull, and the 
two lived for six thousand years in a blissful state. But 
when the world came into the cycle of the seventh sign 
of the Zodiac (Libra) the evil principle entered. Libra 
is astrologically the so-called positive domicile of Venus; 
the evil principle, therefore, came under the dominion 
of the goddess of love (destruction of the sun-hero 
through the mother-wife snake, whore, etc). As a re- 
sult, after thirty years, Gayomard and his bull died. 
(The trials of Zartusht lasted also thirty years; compare 
the span of Christ's life.) Fifty-five species of grain 
came from the dead bull, twelve kinds of salubrious 
plants, etc. The sperma of the bull entered into the moon 
for purification, but the sperma of Gayomard entered 
into the sun. This circumstance possibly suggests a rather 
feminine meaning of bull. Gosh or Drvagpa is the soul 


of the bull, and was worshipped as a female divinity. She 
would not, at first, from diffidence, become the goddess 
of the herds, until the coming of Zarathustra was an- 
nounced to her as consolation. This has its parallel in 
the Hindoo Purana, where the coming of Krishna was 
promised the earth. (A complete analogy to Christ. 38 ) 
She, too, travels in her chariot, like Ardvicjjra, the god- 
dess of love. The soul of the bull is, therefore, decidedly 
feminine. This myth of Gayomard repeats only in an 
altered form the primitive conception of the closed ring 
of a male-female divinity, self-begetting and forth-bring- 

Like the sacrificial bull, the fire, the sacrifice of which 
we have already discussed in Chapter III, has a feminine 
nature among the Chinese, according to the commen- 
taries 39 of the philosopher Tschwang-Tse : 

" The spirit of the hearth is called Ki. He is clad in bright fed, 
which resembles fire, and appears as a lovely, attractive maiden." 

In the " Book of Rites " it is said: 

" Wood is burned in the flames for the spirit of Au. This 
sacrifice to Au is a sacrifice to old departed women." 

These spirits of the hearth and fire are the souls of de- 
parted cooks and, therefore, are called " old women." 
The kitchen god develops from this pre-Buddhistic tra- 
dition and becomes later (male sex) the ruler of the 
family and the mediator between family and god. Thus 
the old feminine fire spirit becomes a species of Logos. 
(Compare with this the remarks in Chapter III.) 


From the bull's sperma the progenitors of the cattle 
came, as well as two hundred and seventy-two species of 
useful animals. According to Minokhired, Gayomard 
had destroyed the Dev Azur, who was considered the 
demon of evil appetites. 40 In spite of the efforts of Zara- 
thustra, this demon remained longest on the earth. He 
was destroyed at last at the resurrection, like Satan in the 
Apocalypse of John. In another version it is said that 
Angromainyus and the serpent were left until the last, 
so as to be destroyed by Ahuramazda himself. Accord- 
ing to a surmise by Kern, Zarathustra may mean " golden- 
star " and be identical with Mithra. Mithra's name is 
connected with neo-Persian Mihr, which means " sun and 

In Zagreus we see that the bull is also identical with 
the god; hence the bull sacrifice is a god sacrifice, but on 
a primitive stage. The animal symbol is, so to speak, 
only a part of the hero; he sacrifices only his animal; 
therefore, symbolically, renounces only his animal nature. 
The internal participation in the sacrifice 41 is expressed 
excellently in the anguished ecstatic countenance of the 
bull-slaying Mithra. He does it willingly and unwill- 
ingly 42 hence the somewhat hysterical expression which 
has some similarity to the well-known mawkish counte- 
nance of the Crucified of Guido Reni. Benndorf says : 43 

" The features, which, especially in the upper portion, bear an 
absolutely ideal character, have an extremely morbid expression." 

Cumont 44 himself says of the facial expression of the 
Tauroctonos : 


" The countenance, which may be seen in the best reproduc- 
tions, is that of a young man of an almost feminine beauty; the 
head has a quantity of curly hair, which, rising up from the fore- 
head, surrounds him as with a halo; the head is slightly tilted 
backwards, so that the glance is directed towards the heavens, and 
the contraction of the brows and the lips give a strange expres- 
sion of sorrow to the face." 45 

The Ostian head of Mithra Tauroctonos, illustrated 
in Cumont, has, indeed, an expression which we recognize 
in our patients as one of sentimental resignation. Sen- 
timentality is repressed brutality. Hence the exceed- 
ingly sentimental pose, which had its counterpart in the 
symbolism of the shepherd and the lamb of contem- 
poraneous Christianity, with the addition of infan- 
tilism. 48 

Meanwhile, it is only his animal nature which the god 
sacrifices; that is to say, his sexuality, 47 always in close 
analogy to the course of the sun. We have learned in 
the course of this investigation that the part of the libido 
which erects religious structures is in the last analysis 
fixed in the mother, and really represents that tie through 
which we are permanently connected with our origin. 
Briefly, we may designate this amount of libido as 
" Mother Libido." As we have seen, this libido conceals 
itself in countless and very heterogeneous symbols, also 
in animal images, no matter whether of masculine or fem- 
inine nature differences of sex are at bottom of a sec- 
ondary value and psychologically do not play the part 
which might be expected from a superficial observation. 

The annual sacrifice of the maiden to the dragon prob- 
ably represented the most ideal symbolic situation. In 


order to pacify the anger of the " terrible mother " the 
most beautiful woman was sacrificed as symbol of man's 
libido. Less vivid examples are the sacrifice of the first- 
born and various valuable domestic animals. A second 
ideal case is the self-castration in the service of the mother 
(Dea Syria, etc.), a less obvious form of which is circum- 
cision. By that at least only a portion is sacrificed. 48 
With these sacrifices, the object of which in ideal cases 
is to symbolize the libido drawing away from the mother, 
life is symbolically renounced in order to regain it. By 
the sacrifice man ransoms himself from the fear of death 
and reconciles the destroying mother. In those later re- 
ligions, where the hero, who in olden times overcomes all 
evil and death through his labors, has become the divine 
chief figure, he becomes the priestly sacrificer and the 
regenerator of life. But as the hero is an imaginary 
figure and his sacrifice is a transcendental mystery, the 
significance of which far exceeds the value of an or- 
dinary sacrificial gift, this deepening of the sacrificial 
symbolism regressively resumes the idea of the human 
sacrifice. This is partly due to the preponderance of 
phantastic additions, which always take their subject- 
matter from greater depths, and partly due to the higher 
religious occupation of the libido, which demanded a more 
complete and equivalent expression. Thus the relation 
between Mithra and his bull is very close. It is the hero 
himself in the Christian mysteries who sacrifices himself 
voluntarily. The hero, as we have sufficiently shown, is 
the infantile personality longing for the mother, who as 
Mithra sacrifices the wish (the libido), and as Christ 


gives himself to death both willingly and unwillingly. 
Upon the monuments of the Mithraic religion we often 
meet a strange symbol: a crater (mixing bowl) encoiled 
by a serpent, sometimes with a lion, who as antagonist 
opposes the serpent. 49 It appears as if the two were 
fighting for the crater. The crater symbolizes, as we 
have seen, the mother, the serpent the resistance defend- 
ing her, and the lion the greatest strength and strongest 
will. 50 The struggle is for the mother. The serpent takes 
part almost regularly in the Mithraic sacrifice of the 
bull, moving towards the blood flowing from the wound. 
It seems to follow from that that the life of the bull 
(blood) is sacrificed to the serpent. Previously we have 
pointed out the mutual relationship between serpent and 
bull, and found there that the bull symbolizes the living 
hero, the shining sun, but that the serpent symbolizes the 
dead, buried or chthonic hero, the invisible sun. As the 
hero is in the mother in the state of death, the serpent 
is also, as the symbol of the fear of death, the sign of 
the devouring mother. The sacrifice of the bull to the 
serpent, therefore, signifies a willing renunciation of life, 
in order to win it from death. Therefore, after the sac- 
rifice of the bull, wonderful fertility results. The an- 
tagonism between serpent and lion over the crater is to 
be interpreted as a battle over the fruitful mother's 
womb, somewhat comparable to the more simple symbol- 
ism of the Tishtriya song, where the demon Apaosha, 
the black horse, has possession of the rain lake, and the 
white horse, Tishtriya, must banish him from it. Death 
from time to time lays its destroying hand upon life and 


fertility and the libido disappears, by entering into the 
mother, from whose womb it will be born renewed. It, 
therefore, seems very probable that the significance of 
the Mithraic bull sacrifice is also that of the sacrifice of 
the mother who sends the fear of death. As the contrary 
of the Occide moriturus is also intended here, so is the 
act of sacrifice an impregnating of the mother; the 
chthonic snake demon drinks the blood; that is to say, the 
libido (sperma) of the hero committing incest. Life is 
thus immortalized for the hero because, like the sun, he 
generates himself anew. After all the preceding mate- 
rials, it can no longer be difficult to recognize in the 
Christian mysteries the human sacrifice, or the sacrifice 
of the son to the mother. 51 Just as Attis emasculates 
himself on account of the mother, so does Christ himself 
hang upon the tree of life, 52 the wood of martyrdom, 
the sHccrr},* the chthonic mother, and by that redeems 
creation from death. By entering again into the mother's 
womb (Matuta, Pieta of Michelangelo) he redeems in 
death the sin in life of the primitive man, Adam, in 
order symbolically through his deed 53 to procure for the 
innermost and most hidden meaning of the religious 
libido its highest satisfaction and most pronounced ex- 
pression. The martyrdom of Christ has in Augustine as 
well actually the meaning of a Hierosgamos with the 
mother (corresponding to the Adonis festival, where 
Venus and Adonis were laid upon the nuptial couch) : 

" Procedit Christus quasi sponsus de thalamo suo, praesagio 
nuptiarum exiit ad campum saeculi ; pervenit usque ad crucis 

* Hecate. 


torum (torus has the meaning of bed, pillow, concubine, bier) et 
ibi firmavit ascendendo conjugium: ubi cum sentiret anhelantem 
in suspiriis creaturam commercio pietatis se pro conjuge dedit ad 
poenam et copulavit sibi perpetuo iure matronam." 

This passage is perfectly clear. A similar death over- 
takes the Syrian Melcarth, who, riding upon a sea horse, 
was annually burned. Among the Greeks he is called 
Melicertes, and was represented riding upon a dolphin. 
The dolphin is also the steed of Arion. We have learned 
to recognize previously the maternal significance of 
dolphin, so that in the death of Melcarth we can once 
more recognize the negatively expressed Hierosgamos 
with the mother. (Compare Frazer u Golden Bough," 
IV, p. 87.) This figurative expression is of the greatest 
teleological significance. Through its symbol it leads 
that libido which inclines backward into the original, 
primitive and impulsive upwards to the spiritual by in- 
vesting it with a mysterious but fruitful function. It is 
superfluous to speak of the effect of this symbol upon 
the unconscious of Occidental humanity. A glance over 
history shows what creative forces were released in this 
symbol. 54 

The comparison of the Mithraic and the Christian 
sacrifice plainly shows wherein lies the superiority of the 
Christian symbol; it is the frank admission that not only 
are the lower wishes to be sacrificed, but the whole per- 
sonality. The Christian symbol demands complete de- 
votion; it compels a veritable self-sacrifice to a higher 
purpose, while the Sacrificium Mithriacum, remaining 
fixed on a primitive symbolic stage, is contented with an 


animal sacrifice. The religious effect of these symbols 
must be considered as an orientation of the unconscious 
by means of imitation. 

In Miss Miller's phantasy there is internal compul- 
sion, in that she passes from the horse sacrifice to the 
self-sacrifice of the hero. Whereas the first symbolizes 
renunciation of the sexual wishes, the second has the 
deeper and ethically more valuable meaning of the sac- 
rifice of the infantile personality. The object of psycho- 
analysis has frequently been wrongly understood to mean 
the renunciation or the gratification of the ordinary sexual 
wish, while, in reality, the problem is the sublimation of 
the infantile personality, or, expressed mythologically, a 
sacrifice and rebirth of the infantile hero. 55 In the Chris- 
tian mysteries, however, the resurrected one becomes a 
supermundane spirit, and the invisible kingdom of God, 
with its mysterious gifts, are obtained by his believers 
through the sacrifice of himself on the mother. In 
psychoanalysis the infantile personality is deprived of its 
libido fixations in a rational manner; the libido which is 
thus set free serves for the building up of a personality 
matured and adapted to reality, who does willingly and 
without complaint everything required by necessity. (It 
is, so to speak, the chief endeavor of the infantile person- 
ality to struggle against all necessities and to create coer- 
cions for itself where none exist in reality.) 

The serpent as an instrument of sacrifice has already 
been abundantly illustrated. (Legend of St. Silvester, 
trial of the virgins, wounding of Re and Philoctetes, sym- 
bolism of the lance and arrow.) It is the destroying 


knife; but, according to the principle of the " Occide 
moriturus " also the phallus, the sacrificial act represents 
a coitus act as well. 56 The religious significance of the 
serpent as a cave-dwelling, chthonic animal points to a 
further thought; namely, to the creeping into the 
mother's womb in the form of a serpent. 57 As the horse 
is the brother, so the serpent is the sister of Chiwantopel. 
This close relation refers to a fellowship of these animals 
and their characters with the hero. We know of the 
horse that, as a rule, he is not an animal of fear, although, 
mythologically, he has at times this meaning. He sig- 
nifies much more the living, positive part of the libido, 
the striving towards continual renewal, whereas the ser- 
pent, as a rule, represents the fear, the fear of death, 58 
and is thought of as the antithesis to the phallus. This 
antithesis between horse and serpent, mythologically be- 
tween bull and serpent, represents an opposition of the 
libido within itself, a striving forwards and a striving 
backwards at one and the same time. 59 It is not only 
as if the libido might be an irresistible striving forward, 
an endless life and will for construction, such as Schopen- 
hauer has formulated in his world will, death and every 
end being some malignancy or fatality coming from with- 
out, but the libido, corresponding to the sun, also wills 
the destruction of its creation. In the first half of life 
its will is for growth, in the second half of life it hints, 
softly at first, and then audibly, at its will for death. 
And just as in youth the impulse to unlimited growth often 
lies under the enveloping covering of a resistance against 
life, so also does the will of the old to die frequently lie 


under the covering of a stubborn resistance against the 

This apparent contrast in the nature of the libido is 
strikingly illustrated by a Priapic statuette in the antique 
collection at Verona. 60 Priapus smilingly points with his 
finger to a snake biting off his u membrum." He carries 


a basket on his arm, filled with oblong objects, probably 
phalli, evidently prepared as substitutes. 

A similar motive is found in the " Deluge " of Rubens 
(in the Munich Art Gallery), where a serpent emascu- 
lates a man. This motive explains the meanirig of the 
"Deluge"; the maternal sea is also the devouring 
mother. 61 The phantasy of the world conflagration, of 
the cataclysmic end of the world in general, is nothing 
but a mythological projection of a personal individual 
will for death; therefore, Rubens could represent the 
essence of the " Deluge " phantasy in the emasculation 
by the serpent; for the serpent is our own repressed will 


for the end, for which we find an explanation only with 
the greatest difficulty. 

Concerning the symbolism of the serpent in general, its 
significance is very dependent upon the time of life and 
circumstances. The repressed sexuality of youth is sym- 
bolized by the serpent, because the arrival of sexuality 
puts an end to childhood. To age, on the contrary, the 
serpent signifies the repressed thought of death. With 
our author it is the insufficiently expressed sexuality 
which as serpent assumes the role of sacrificer and de- 
livers the hero over to death and rebirth. 

As in the beginning of our investigation the hero's 
name forced us to speak of the symbolism of Popocate- 
petl as belonging to the creating part of the human body, 
so at the end does the Miller drama again give us an 
opportunity of seeing how the volcano assists in the 
death of the hero and causes him to disappear by means 
of an earthquake into the depths of the earth. As the 
volcano gave birth and name to the hero, so at the end of 
the day it devours him again. 62 We learn from the last 
words of the hero that his longed-for beloved, she who 
alone understands him, is called Ja-ni-wa-ma. We find 
in this name those lisped syllables familiar to us from 
the early childhood of the hero, Hiawatha, Wawa, wama, 
mama. The only one who really understands us is the 
mother. For verstehen, "to understand" (Old High 
German firs tan), is probably derived from a primitive 
Germanic prefix fri, identical with nspi, meaning u round- 
about." The Old High German antfriston, " to inter- 
pret," is considered as identical with firstdn. From that 


results a fundamental significance of the verb verstehen, 
" to understand," as u standing round about some- 
thing." 63 Comprehendere and HaraGv^ka^pdvaiv ex- 
press a similar idea as the German erfassen, " to grasp, 
to comprehend." The thing common to these expres- 
sions is the surrounding, the enfolding. And there is no 
doubt that there is nothing in the world which so com- 
pletely enfolds us as the mother. When the neurotic 
complains that the world has no understanding, he says 
indirectly that he misses the mother. Paul Verlaine has 
expressed this thought most beautifully in his poem, 
"Mon Reve Familier": 

My Familiar Dream. 

" Often I have that strange and poignant dream 

Of some unknown who meets my flame with flame 
Who, with each time, is never quite the same, 

Yet never wholly different does she seem. 

She understands me ! Every fitful gleam 

Troubling my heart, she reads aright somehow: 
Even the sweat upon my pallid brow 

She soothes with tears, a cool and freshening stream. 

" If she is dark or fair? I do not know 
Her name? Only that it is sweet and low, 

Like those of loved ones who have long since died. 
Her look is like a statue's, kind and clear ;' 

And her calm voice, distant and dignified, 
Like those hushed voices that I loved to hear." 




1 He is said to have killed himself when he heard that she whom he 
so passionately adored was his mother. 

2 "Wish Fulfilment and Symbolism in Fairy Tales." Tr. by W. A. 
White, M.D. 

3 " Dream and Myth." Deuticke, Wien 1909. 
4 " The Myth of the Birth of the Hero." 

B " Die Symbolik in den Legenden, Marchen, Gebrauchen und 
Traumen." Psychiatrisch.-Neurologische Wochenschrijt, X. Jahrgang. 

6 " On the Nightmare." Amer. Journ. of Insanity, 1910. 

7 Jahrbuch, 1910, Pt. II. 

8 " Die Frommigkeit des Grafen Ludwig von Zinzendorf. Bin psycho- 
analytischer Beitrag zur Kenntnis der religiosen Sublimationprozesse 
und zur Erklarung des Pietismus." Deuticke, Wien 1910. We have a 
suggestive hint in Freud's work, " Eine Kindheitserinnerung des 
Leonardo da Vinci." Deuticke, Wien 1910. 

9 Compare Rank in Jahrbuch, Pt. II, p. 465. 


1 Compare Liepmann, " Uber Ideenflucht," Halle 1904; also Jung, 
" Diagnost. Assoc. Stud.," p. 103 : " Denken als Unterordnung unter eine 
herrschende Vorstellung"; compare Ebbinghaus, " Kultur der Gegen- 
wart," p. 221. Kulpe (" Gr. d. Psychologic," p. 464) expresses himself 
in a similar manner: "In thinking it is a question of an anticipatory 
apperception which sometimes governs a greater, sometimes a smaller 
circle of individual reproductions, and is differentiated from accidental 
motives of reproduction only by the consequence with which all things 
outside this circle are held back or repressed." 

2 In his "Psychologia empirica meth. scientif. pertract.," etc., 1732, 
p. 23, Christian Wolff says simply and precisely: " Cogitatio est actus 
animae quo sibi rerumque aliarum extra se conscia est." 

3 The moment of adaptation is emphasized especially by William 
James in his definition of reasoning: "Let us make this ability to deal 
with novel data the technical differentia of reasoning. This will 
sufficiently mark it out from common associative thinking, and will 
immediately enable us to say just what peculiarity it contains." 

4 " Thoughts are shadows of our experiences, always darker, emptier, 



simpler than these," says Nietzsche. Lotze (" Logik," p. 552) expresses 
himself in regard to this as follows: "Thought, left to the logical laws 
of its movement, encounters once more at the end of its regularly 
traversed course the things suppressed or hidden." 

6 Compare the remarks of Baldwin following in text. The eccentric 
philosopher Johann Georg Hamann (1730-88) even places intelligence 
and speech as identical (see Hamann's writings, pub. by Roth, 
Berlin 1821). With Nietzsche intelligence fares even worse as "speech 
metaphysics" (Sprachmetaphysik). Friedrich Mauthner goes the furthest 
in this conception (" Sprache und Psychologic," 1901). For him there 
exists absolutely no thought without speech, and speaking is thinking. 
His idea of the " fetish of the word " governing in science is worthy of 

6 Compare Kleinpaul: "Das Leben der Sprache," 3 Bande. Leipzig 

7 " Jardin d'fepicure," p. 80. 

8 It is difficult to calculate how great is the seductive influence of the 
primitive word-meaning upon a thought. " Anything which has even been 
in consciousness remains as an affective moment in the unconscious," says 
Hermann Paul ("Prinzipien der Sprachgeschichte," 4th ed., 1909, p. 
25). The old word-meanings have an after-effect, chiefly imperceptible, 
"within the dark chamber of .the unconscious in the Soul" (Paul). J. G. 
Hamann, mentioned above, expresses himself unequivocably: "Meta- 
physics reduces all catchwords and all figures of speech of our empirical 
knowledge to empty hieroglyphics and types of ideal relations." It is 
said that Kant learned some things from Hamann. 

9 " Grundriss der Psychologic," p. 365. 

10 " Lehrbuch der Psychologic," X, 26. 

11 James Mark Baldwin : " Thought and Things, or Genetic Logic." 

13 In this connection I must refer to an experiment which Eber- 
schweiler (Allgemeine Zeitschrift fur Psychiatric, 1908) has made at my 
request, which discloses the remarkable fact that in an association experi- 
ment the intrapsychic association is influenced by phonetic considerations 
(" Untersuchungen iiber den Einfluss der sprachlichen Komponente auf die 
Assoziation," Allgemeine Zeitschrift fur Psychiatric, 1908). 

13 So at least this form of thought appears to Consciousness. Freud 
says in this connection ("The Interpretation of Dreams," tr. by Brill, 
p. 418) : " It is demonstrably incorrect to state that we abandon ourselves 
to an aimless course of ideas when we relinquish our reflections, and 
allow the unwilled ideas to emerge. It can be shown that we are able 
to reject only those end-presentations known to us, and that immediately 
upon the cessation of these unknown or, as we inaccurately say, uncon- 
scious end-presentations come into play which now determine the course 
of the unwilled ideas a thought without end-presentation cannot be 
produced through any influence we can exert on our own psychic life." 

14 " Grundriss der Psychologic," p. 464. 

15 Behind this assertion stand, first of all, experiences talcen from the 
field of the normal. The undirected thinking is very far removed from 
" meditation," and especially so as far as readiness of speech is con- 
cerned. In psychological experiments I have frequently found that the 


subjects of the investigation I speak only of cultivated and intelligent 
people, whom I have allowed to indulge in reveries, apparently unin- 
tentionally and without previous instruction have exhibited affect- 
expressions which can be registered experimentally. But the basic 
thought of these, even with the best of intentions, they could express only 
incompletely or even not at all. One meets with an abundance of 
similar experiences in association experiments and psychoanalysis in- 
deed, there is hardly an unconscious complex which has not at some time 
existed as a phantasy in consciousness. 

However, more instructive are the experiences from the domain of 
psychopathology. But those arising in the field of the hysterias and 
neuroses, which are characterized by an overwhelming transference 
tendency, are rarer than the experiences in the territory of the intro- 
version type of neuroses and psychoses, which constitute by far the 
greater number of the mental derangements, at least the collected 
Schizophrenic group of Bleuler. As has already been indicated by the 
term " introversion," which I briefly introduced in my study, " Konflikte 
der kindlichen Seele," pp. 6 and 10, these neuroses lead to an over- 
powering autoerotism (Freud). And here we meet with this unuttera- 
ble purely phantastic thinking, which moves in inexpressible symbols and 
feelings. One gets a slight impression of this when one seeks to examine 
the paltry and confused expressions of these people. As I have frequently 
observed, it costs these patients endless trouble and effort to put their 
phantasies into common human speech. A highly intelligent patient, 
who interpreted such a phantasy piece by piece, often said to me, " I 
know absolutely with what it is concerned, I see and feel everything, 
but it is quite impossible for me to find the words to express it." The 
poetic and religious introversion gives rise to similar experiences; for 
example, Paul, in the Epistle to the Romans viii:26 "For we know 
not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh 
intercession with groanings which cannot be uttered." 

" Similarly, James remarks, " The great difference, in fact, between 
that simple kind of rational thinking which consists in the concrete 
objects of past experience merely suggesting each other, and reason dis- 
tinctively so called, is this, that whilst the empirical thinking is only 
reproductive, reasoning is productive." 

17 Compare the impressive description of Petrarch's ascent of Mr. 
Ventoux, by Jacob Burckhardt (" Die Kultur der Renaissance in Italien," 
1869, p. 235): 

" One now awaits a description of the view, but in vain, not because 
the poet is indifferent to it, but, on the contrary, because the impression 
affects him all too strongly. His entire past life, with all its follies, 
passes before him; he recalls that it is ten years ago to-day that he, 
as a young man, left Bologna, and he turns a yearning glance toward 
Italy. He opens a book ' Confessions of St. Augustine,' his companion 
at that time and his eye falls upon this passage in the tenth chapter: 
1 and the people went there and admired the high mountains, the wide 
wastes of the sea and the mighty downward rushing streams, and the 
ocean and the courses of the stars, and forgot themselves.' His brother, 
to whom he reads these words, cannot comprehend why, at this point, he 
closes the book and is silent." 

18 Wundt gives a striking description of the scholastic method in his 
" Philosophische Studien," XIII, p. 345. The method consists "first in 
this, that one realizes the chief aim of scientific investigation is the 


discovery of a comprehensive scheme, firmly established, and capable of 
being applied in a uniform manner to the most varied problems; sec- 
ondly, in that one lays an excessive value upon certain general ideas, 
and, consequently, upon the word-symbols designating these ideas, 
wherefore an analysis of word-meanings comes, in extreme cases, to be 
an empty subtlety and splitting of hairs, instead of an investigation of 
the real facts from which the ideas are abstracted." 

19 The concluding passage in " Traumdeutung " was of prophetic sig- 
nificance, and has been brilliantly established since then through investi- 
gations of the psychoses. " In the psychoses these modes of operation 
of the psychic mechanism, normally suppressed in the waking state, again 
become operative, and then disclose their inability to satisfy our needs 
in the outer world." The importance of this position is emphasized by 
the views of Pierre Janet, developed independently of Freud, and which 
deserve to be mentioned here, because they add confirmation from an 
entirely different side, namely, the biological. Janet makes the distinc- 
tion in this function of a firmly organized " inferior " and " superior " 
part, conceived of as in a state of continuous transformation. 

" It is really on this superior part of the functions, on their adaptation 
to present circumstances, that the neuroses depend. The neuroses are 
the disturbances or the checks in the evolution of the functions the 
illnesses depending upon the morbid functioning of the organism. These 
are characterized by an alteration in the superior part of the functions, 
in their evolution and in their adaptation to the present moment to the 
present state of the exterior world and of the individual, and also by the 
absence or deterioration of the old parts of these same functions. 

" In the place of these superior operations there are developed physical, 
mental, and, above all, emotional disturbances. This is only the tendency 
to replace the superior operations by an exaggeration of certain inferior 
operations, and especially by gross visceral disturbances" ("Les 
Nevroses," p. 383). 

The old parts are, indeed, the inferior parts of the functions, and these 
replace, in a purposeless fashion, the abortive attempts at adaptation. 
Briefly speaking, the archaic replaces the recent function which has 
failed. Similar views concerning the nature of neurotic symptoms are 
expressed by Claparede as well (" Quelques mots sur la definition de 
1'Hysterie," Arch, de Psycho 1., I, VII, p. 169). 

He understands the hysterogenic mechanism as a "Tendance a la 
reversion " as a sort of atavistic manner of reaction. 

20 1 am indebted to Dr. Abraham for the following interesting com- 
munication: "A little girl of three and a half years had been presented 
with a little brother, who became the object of the well-known childish 
jealousy. Once she said to her mother, 'You are two mammas; you are 
my mamma, and your breast is little brother's mamma.' She had just 
been looking on with great interest at the process of nursing." It is very 
characteristic of the archaic thinking of the child for the breast to be 
designated as " mamma." 

21 Compare especially Freud's thorough investigation of the child in 
his "Analyse der Phobic eines funfjahrigen Knaben," 1912 Jahrbuch, 
Pt. I. Also my study, " Konflikte der kindlichen Seele," 1912 Jahrbuch, 
Pt. II, p. 33. 

22 " Human, All Too Human," Vol. II, p. 27 and on. 

38 " Sammlung kleiner Schriften zur Neurosenlehre," Pt. II, p. 205. 


** " Der Kiinstler, Ansatze zu einer Sexualpsychologie," 1907, p. 36. 

25 Compare also Rank's later book, " The Myth of the Birth of the 

26 " Wish Fulfilment and Symbolism in Fairy Tales," 1908. 
2T " Dreams and Myths." 

28 Compare with this " Konflikte der kindlichen Seele," p. 6, foot. 

29 Compare Abraham, " Dreams and Myths." New York 1913. The 
wish for the future is represented as already fulfilled in the past. 
Later, the childish phantasy is again taken up regressively in order to 
compensate for the disillusionment of actual life. 

80 Rank: "The Myth of the Birth of the Hero." 

81 Naturally, it could not be said that because this was an institution 
in antiquity, the same would recur in our phantasy, but rather that in 
antiquity it was possible for the phantasy so generally present to become 
an institution. This may be concluded from the peculiar activity of the 
mind of antiquity. 

32 The Dioscuri married the Leucippides by theft, an act which, accord- 
ing to the ideas of higher antiquity, belonged to the necessary customs 
of marriage (Preller: " Griechische Mythologie," 1854, Ft. II, p. 68). 

33 See S. Creuzer: " Symbolik und Mythologie," 1811, Ft. Ill, p. 245. 

84 Compare also the sodomitic phantasies in the " Metamorphoses " of 
Apuleius. In Herculaneum, for example, corresponding sculptures have 
been found. 

85 Ferrero: "Les lois psychologiques du symbolisme." 

38 With the exception of the fact that the thoughts enter consciousness 
already in a high state of complexity, as Wundt says. 

"Schelling: "Philosophic der Mythologie," Werke, Ft. II, considers 
the " preconscious " as the creative source, also H. Fichte ("Psychologic," 
I, p. 508) considers the preconscious region as the place of origin of the 
real content of dreams. 

88 Compare, in this connection, Flournoy: " Des Indes a la planete 
Mars." Also Jung: " Zur Psychologic und Pathologic sogenannter ok- 
kulter Phanomene," and " tiber die Psychologic der Dementia praecox." 
Excellent examples are to be found in Schreber: " Denkwurdigkeiten 
eines Nervenkranken." Mutze, Leipzig. 

88 "Jardin d'Epicure." 

40 The figure of Judas acquires a great psychological significance as 
the priestly sacrificer of the Lamb of God, who, by this act, sacrifices 
himself at the same time. (Self-destruction.) Compare Pt. II of this 

41 Compare with this the statements of Drews ("The Christ Myth"), 
which are so violently combated by the blindness of our time. Clear- 
sighted theologians, like Kalthoff ("Entstehung des Christentums," 1904), 
present as impersonal a judgment as Drews. Kalthoff says, " The 
sources from which we derive our information concerning the origin of 
Christianity are such that in the present state of historical research no 
historian would undertake the task of writing the biography of an 


historical Jesus." Ibid., p. 10: "To see behind these stories the life of 
a real historical personage, would not occur to any man, if it were not 
for the influence of rationalistic theology." Ibid., p. 9: "The divine 
in Christ, always considered an inner attribute and one with the human, 
leads in a straight line backward from the scholarly man of God, through 
the Epistles and Gospels of the New Testament, to the Apocalypse of 
Daniel, in which the theological imprint of the figure of Christ has 
arisen. At every single point of this line Christ shows superhuman 
traits; nowhere is He that which critical theology wished to make Him, 
simply a natural man, an historic individual." 

" Compare J. Burckhardt's letter to Albert Brenner (pub. by Hans 
Brenner in the Basle Jahrbuch, 1901): "I have absolutely nothing stored 
away for the special interpretation of Faust. You are well provided 
with commentaries of all sorts. Hark! let us at once take the whole 
foolish pack back to the reading-room from whence they have come. 
What you are destined to find in Faust, that you will find by intuition. 
Faust is nothing else than pure and legitimate myth, a great primitive 
conception, so to speak, in which everyone can divine in his own way 
his own nature and destiny. Allow me to make a comparison: What 
would the ancient Greeks have said had a commentator interposed him- 
self between them and the Oedipus legend? There was a chord of the 
Oedipus legend in every Greek which longed to be touched directly and 
respond in its own way. And thus it is with the German nation and 

48 1 will not conceal the fact that for a time I was in doubt whether 
I dare venture to reveal through analysis the intimate personality which 
the author, with a certain unselfish scientific interest, has exposed to 
public view. Yet it seemed to me that the writer would possess an 
understanding deeper than any objections of my critics. There is always 
some risk when one exposes one's self to the world. The absence of 
any personal relation with Miss Miller permits me free speech, and also 
exempts me from those considerations due woman which are prejudicial 
to conclusions. The person of the author is on that account just as 
shadowy to me as are her phantasies ; and, like Odysseus, I have tried 
to let this phantom drink only enough blood to enable it to speak, and 
in so doing betray some of the secrets of the inner life. 

I have not undertaken this analysis, for which the author owes me but 
little thanks, for the pleasure of revealing private and intimate matters, 
with the accompanying embarrassment of publicity, but because I wished 
to show the secret of the individual as one common to all. 


1 A very beautiful example of this is found in C. A. Bernoulli: "Franz 
Overbeck und Friedrich Nietzsche. Eine Freundschaft," 1908 (Pt. I, 
p. 72). This author depicts Nietzsche's behavior in Basle society: "Once 
at a dinner he said to the young lady at his side, ' I dreamed a short 
time ago that the skin of my hand, which lay before me on the table, 
suddenly became like glass, shiny and transparent, through which I saw 
distinctly the bones and the tissues and the play of the muscles. All at 
once I saw a toad sitting on my hand and at the same time I felt an 
irresistible compulsion to swallow the beast. I overcame my terrible 
aversion and gulped it down.' The young lady laughed. 'And do you 
laugh at that?' Nietzsche asked, his deep eyes fixed on his companion, 

pp. 49-86] THE HYMN OF CREATION 491 

half questioning, half sorrowful. The young lady knew intuitively that 
she did not wholly understand that an oracle had spoken to her in the 
form of an allegory and that Nietzsche had revealed to her a glimpse 
into the dark abyss of his inner self." On page 166 Bernoulli con- 
tinues as follows: "One can perhaps see, behind that harmless pleasure 
of faultless exactness in dress, a dread of contamination arising from 
some mysterious and tormenting disgust." 

Nietzsche went to Basle when he was very young; he was then just 
at the age when other young people are contemplating marriage. Seated 
next to a young woman, he tells her that something terrible and dis- 
gusting is taking place in his transparent hand, something which he 
must take completely into his body. We know what illness caused the 
premature ending of Nietzsche's life. It was precisely this which he 
would tell the young lady, and her laughter was indeed discordant. 

3 A whole series of psychoanalytic experiences could easily be pro- 
duced here to illustrate this statement. 

"Ferenczi: " Introjektion und Ubertragung," Jahrbuch, Pt. I (1912). 


1 The choice of words and comparisons is always significant. A 
psychology of travels and the unconscious forces co-operating with them 
is yet to be written. 

2 This mental disturbance had until recently the very unfortunate 
designation, Dementia Praecox, given by Kraepelin. It is extremely un- 
fortunate that this malady should have been discovered by the psychi- 
atrists, for its apparently bad prognosis is due to this circumstance. 
Dementia praecox is synonymous with therapeutic hopelessness. How 
would hysteria appear if judged from the standpoint of psychiatry! 
The psychiatrist naturally sees in the institutions only the worst cases 
of dementia praecox, and as a consequence of his therapeutic helpless- 
ness he must be a pessimist. How deplorable would tuberculosis appear 
if the physician of an asylum for the incurable described the nosology 
of this disease! Just as little as the chronic cases of hysteria, which 
gradually degenerate in insane asylums, are characteristic of real 
hysteria, just so little are the cases of dementia praecox in asylums 
characteristic of those early forms so frequent in general practice, and 
which Janet has described under the name of Psychasthenia. These 
cases fall under Bleuler's description of Schizophrenia, a name which 
connotes a psychological fact, and might easily be compared with 
similar facts in hysteria. The term which I use in my private work 
for these conditions is Introversion Neurosis, by which, in my opinion, 
the most important characteristic of the condition is given, namely, the 
predominance of introversion over transference, which latter is the 
characteristic feature of hysteria. 

In my " Psychology of Dementia Praecox " I have not made any study 
of the relationship of the Psychasthenia of Janet. Subsequent experience 
with Dementia Praecox, and particularly the study of Psychasthenia in 
Paris, have demonstrated to me the essential relationship of Janet's 
group with the Introversion Neuroses (the Schizophrenia of Bleuler). 

8 Compare the similar views in my article, " Uber die Psychologic der 
Dementia praecox," Halle 1907; and " Inhalt der Psychose," Deuticke, 
Wien 1908. Also Abraham: " Die psychosexuellen Differenzen der 

492 THE HYMN OF CREATION [pp. 49-86 

Hysteric und der Dementia praecox," Zentralblatt fiir Nervenheilkunde 
und Psychiatric, 1908. This author, in support of Freud, defines the 
chief characteristic of dementia praecox as Autoerotism, which as I 
have asserted is only one of the results of Introversion. 

4 Freud, to whom I am indebted for an essential part of this view, 
also speaks of " Heilungsversuch," the attempt toward cure, the search 
for health. 

"Miss Miller's publication gives no hint of any knowledge of psycho- 

6 Here I purposely give preference to the term " Imago " rather than 
to the expression " Complex," in order, by the choice of terminology, to 
invest this psychological condition, which I include under " Imago," 
with living independence in the psychical hierarchy, that is to say, 
with that autonomy which, from a large experience, I have claimed 
as the essential peculiarity of the emotional complex. (Compare "The 
Psychology of Dementia Praecox.") My critics, Isserlin especially, have 
seen in this view a return to medieval psychology, and they have, there- 
fore, rejected it utterly. This " return " took place on my part con- 
sciously and intentionally because the phantastic, projected psychology 
of ancient and modern superstition, especially demonology, furnishes 
exhaustive evidence for this point of view. Particularly interesting 
insight and confirmation is given us by the insane Schreber in an auto- 
biography (" Denkwiirdigkeiten eines Nervenkranken," Mutze, Leipzig), 
where he has given complete expression to the doctrine of autonomy. 

" Imago " has a significance similar on the one hand to the psycho- 
logically conceived creation in Spitteler's novel " Imago," and upon the 
other hand to the ancient religious conception of " imagines et lares." 

7 Compare my article, " Die Bedeutung des Vaters fiir das Schicksal 
des Einzelnen." 

8 As is well known, Anaxagoras developed the conception that the 
living primal power (Urpotenz) of vcn>s (mind) imparts movement, as 
if by a blast of wind, to the dead primal power (Urpotenz) of matter. 
There is naturally no mention of sound. This vovf, which is very 
similar to the later conception of Philo, the ^<tyof aTrepp.a.nK6q of the 
Gnostics and the Pauline Kvevfia (spirit) as well as to the Trvevfta of the 
contemporary Christian theologians, has rather the old mythological 
significance of the fructifying breath of the winds, which impregnated 
the mares of Lusitania, and the Egyptian vultures. The animation of 
Adam and the impregnation of the Mother of God by the nvevjua are pro- 
duced in a similar manner. The infantile incest phantasy of one of my 
patients reads: "the father covered her face with his hands and blew 
into her open mouth." 

8 Haydn's " Creation " might be meant. 
10 See Job xvi:i-n. 

11 1 recall the case of a young insane girl who continually imagined 
that her innocence was suspected, from which thought she would not 
allow herself to be dissuaded. Gradually there developed out of her 
defensive attitude a correspondingly energetic positive erotomania. 

12 Compare the preceding footnote with the text of Miss Miller's. 

13 The case is published in " Zur Psychologic und 
sogenannter okkulter Phanomene." Mutze, Leipzig 1902. 

pp. 49-86] THE HYMN OF CREATION 493 

14 Compare Freud's "Analyse der Phobic eines fiinfjahrigen Knaben," 
Jahrbuch, Vol. I, ist half; also Jung: " Konflikte der kindlichen Seele," 
Jahrbuch.ll, Vol. I. 

15 Others do not make use of this step, but are directly carried away 
by Eros. 

16 " La sagesse et la destinee." 

17 This time I shall hardly be spared the reproach of mysticism. But 
perhaps the facts should be further considered; doubtless the unconscious 
contains material which does not rise to the threshold of consciousness. 
The analysis dissolves these combinations into their historical deter- 
minants, for it is one of the essential tasks of analysis to render impotent 
by dissolution the content of the complexes competing with the proper 
conduct of life. Psychoanalysis works backwards like the science of 
history. Just as the largest part of the past is so far removed that it is 
not reached by history, so too the greater part of the unconscious de- 
terminants is unreachable. History, however, knows nothing of two 
kinds of things, that which is hidden in the past and that which is 
hidden in the future. Both perhaps might be attained with a certain 
probability; the first as a postulate, the second as an historical prog- 
nosis. In so far as to-morrow is already contained in to-day, and all 
the threads of the future are in place, so a more profound knowledge 
of the past might render possible a more or less far-reaching and certain 
knowledge of the future. Let us transfer this reasoning, as Kant has 
already done, to psychology. Then necessarily we must come to the 
same result. Just as traces of memory long since fallen below the 
threshold of consciousness are accessible in the unconscious, so too there 
are certain very fine subliminal combinations of the future, which are 
of the greatest significance for future happenings in so far as the future 
is conditioned by our own psychology. But just so little as the science 
of history concerns itself with the combinations for the future, which is 
the function of politics, so little, also, are the psychological combinations 
for the future the object of analysis; they would be much more the object 
of an infinitely refined psychological synthesis, which attempts to follow 
the natural current of the libido. This we cannot do, but possibly this 
might happen in the unconscious, and it appears as if from time to time, 
in certain cases, significant fragments of this process come to light, at 
least in dreams. From this comes the prophetic significance of the dream 
long claimed by superstition. 

The aversion of the scientific man of to-day to this type of thinking, 
hardly to be called phantastic, is merely an overcompensation to the very 
ancient and all too great inclination of mankind to believe in prophesies 
and superstitions. 

18 Dreams seem to remain spontaneously in the memory just so long as 
they give a correct resume of the psychologic situation of the individual. 

19 How paltry are the intrinsic ensemble and the detail of the erotic 
experience, is shown by this frequently varied love song which I quote 
in its epirotic form: 


(Zeitschrtft des Ver eines fur Volkskunde, XII, p. 159.) 
O Maiden, when we kissed, then it was night; who saw us? 
A night Star saw us, and the moon, 
And it leaned downward to the sea, and gave it the tidings, 

494 THE HYMN OF CREATION [pp. 49-86 

Then the Sea told the rudder, the rudder told the sailor, 

The sailor put it into song, then the neighbor heard it, 

Then the priest heard it and told my mother, 

From her the father heard it, he got in a burning anger, 

They quarrelled with me and commanded me and they have forbidden me 

Ever to go to the door, ever to go to the window. 

And yet I will go to the window as if to my flowers, 

And never will I rest till my beloved is mine. 

30 Job xlins (Leviathan). 

"21. His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth. 
"22. In his neck remaineth strength, and sorrow is turned into joy 

before him. 
"24. His heart is as firm as a stone; yea, as hard as a piece of the 

nether millstone. 
"25. When he raiseth up himself, the mighty are afraid: by reason 

of breakings they purify themselves. 

" 33- Upon earth there is not his like who is made without fear. 
" 34. He beholdeth all high things: he is a king over all the children 

of pride." 
Chapter xlii. 

" i. Then Job answered the Lord, and said, 

"2. I know that thou canst do everything, and that no thought can 
be withholden from thee." 

" The theriomorphic attributes are lacking in the Christian religion 
except as remnants, such as the Dove, the Fish and the Lamb. The 
latter is also represented as a Ram in the drawings in the Catacombs. 
Here belong the animals associated with the Evangelists which particu- 
larly need historical explanation. The Eagle and the Lion were definite 
degrees of initiation in the Mithraic mysteries. The worshippers of 
Dionysus called themselves /3oec because the god was represented as a 
bull; likewise the CLOKTOI of Artemis, conceived of as a she-bear. 
The Angel might correspond to the fai66po/uoi of the Mithras mysteries. 
It is indeed an exquisite invention of the Christian phantasy that the 
animal coupled with St. Anthony is the pig, for the good saint was one 
of those who were subjected to the devil's most evil temptations. 

22 Compare Pfister's notable article: "Die Frommigkeit des Graf en 
Ludwig von Zinzendorf." Wien 1910. 

28 The Book of Job, originating at a later period under non-Jewish 
influences, is a striking presentation of individual projection psychology. 

14 " If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is 
not in us " (I John i:8). 

25 " Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows" (Isaiah 

26 "Bear ye one another's burdens" (Galatians vi:2). 

27 God is Love, corresponding to the platonic " Eros " which unites 
humanity with the transcendental. 

28 Compare Reitzenstein (" Die hellenistischen Mysterienreligionen," 
Leipzig and Berlin 1910, p. 20) : " Among the various forms with which 
a primitive people have represented the highest religious consecration, 
union with God, belongs necessarily that of the sexual union, in which 
man attributes to his semen the innermost nature and power of God. 

pp. 49-86] THE HYMN OF CREATION 495 

That which was in the first instance wholly a sensual act becomes in 
the most widely separated places, independently, a sacred act, in 
which the god is represented by a human deputy or his symbol the 

'" Take as an example among many others the striking psychologic de- 
scription of the fate of Alypius, in the " Confessions " of St. Augustine 
(Bk. VI, Ch. 7) : " Only the moral iniquity of Carthage, expressed in the 
absolute wildness of its worthless spectacles, had drawn him down into 
the whirlpool of this misery. [Augustine, at that time a teacher of 
Logic, through his wisdom had converted Alypius.] He rose up after 
those words from the depths of the mire, into which he had willingly 
let himself be submerged, and which had blinded him with fatal pleasure. 
He stripped the filth from off his soul with courageous abstemiousness. 
All the snares of the Hippodrome no longer perplexed him. Thereupon 
Alypius went to Rome in order to study law; there he became a back- 
slider. He was transported to an unbelievable degree by an unfortunate 
passion for gladiatorial shows. Although in the beginning he abom- 
inated and cursed these shows, one evening some of his friends and 
fellow-students, whom he met after they had dined, in spite of his pas- 
sionate refusals and the exertion of all the power of his resistance, 
dragged him with friendly violence to the Amphitheatre on the occasion 
of a cruel and murderous exhibition. At the time he said to them, ' If 
you drag my body to that place and hold it there, can you turn my 
mind and my eyes to that spectacle?' In spite of his supplications they 
dragged him with them, eager to know if he would be able to resist the 
spectacle. When they arrived they sat down where place was still left, 
and all glowed with inhuman delight. He closed his eyes and forbade 
his soul to expose itself to such danger. O, if he had also stopped up 
his ears! When some one fell in combat and all the people set up 
a mighty shout, he stifled his curiosity and prepared proudly to scorn 
the sight, confident that he could view the spectacle if he so desired. 
And his soul was overcome with terrible wounds, like the wounds of 
the body which he desired to see, and souls more miserable than the one 
whose fall had caused the outcry, which pressing through his ears, had 
opened his eyes, so that his weakness had been bared. Through this he 
could be struck and thrown down, for he had the feeling of confidence 
more than strength, and he was the weaker because he trusted himself 
to this and not to Thee. When he saw the blood, then at the same 
time he drew in the desire for blood, and no longer turned away but 
directed his looks thither. The fury took possession of him and yet he 
did not know it; he took delight in the wicked combat and was intoxi- 
cated by the bloody pleasure. Now he Was no longer the sam as when 
he had come, and he was the true accomplice of those who first had 
dragged him there. What more is there to say? He saw, he cried out, 
he was inflamed, and he carried away with him the insane longing, 
which enticed him again to return, not only in the company of those who 
first had dragged him with them, but going ahead of all and leading 

80 Compare the prayer of the so-called Mithraic Liturgy (pub. by 
Dieterich). There, characteristic places are to be found, such for in- 

stance as : ff/g dvQpuTrivrj^ fj,ov TJrvxiKijc ijv eyu irdfav fj,eTaT 
//era rrfv eveoruaav KCU KaTeTreiyovadv //e TUKpdv avdyiajv d^peoKdTTTjrov (The 
human soul force which I, weighed down by guilt, would again attain, 
because of the present bitter need oppressing me), tnuu&ovfuu evena rfc 

496 THE HYMN OF CREATION [pp. 49-86 

Kal TriKpac (nrapai.T^rov avdy/oyf (On account of the oppress- 
ing bitter and inexorable need). 

From the speech of the High Priest (Apuleius: "Metamorphoses," 
lib. XI, 248) a similar train of thought may be gathered. The young 
philosopher Lucius was changed into an ass, that continuously rutting 
animal which Isis hated. Later he was released from the enchantment 
and initiated into the mysteries of Isis. When he was freed from the 
spell the priest speaks as follows: " Lubrico virentis aetatulae, ad serviles 
delapsus voluptates, curiositatis improsperae sinistrum praemium re- 
portasti. Nam in eos, quorum sibi vitas servitium Deae nostrae ma- 
jestas vindicavit, non habet locum casus infestus in tutelam jam receptus 
es Fortunae, sed videntis " (But falling into the slavery of pleasure, in 
the wantonness of buxom youth, you have reaped the inauspicious reward 
of your ill-fated curiosity for direful calamity has no power over those 
whose lives the majesty of our Goddess has claimed for her own 
service. You are now received under the guardianship of fortune, but 
of a fortune who can see). In the prayer to the Queen of Heaven, Isis, 
Lucius says: "Qua fatorum etiam inextricabiliter contorta retractas licia 
et Fortunae tempestates mitigas, et stellarum noxios meatus cohibes " 
(By which thou dost unravel the inextricably entangled threads of the 
fates, and dost assuage the tempests of fortune and restrain the malig- 
nant influences of the stars). Generally it was the purpose of the rite 
to destroy the " evil compulsion of the star " by magic power. 

The power of fate makes itself felt unpleasantly only when everything 
goes against our will ; that is to say when we no longer find ourselves 
in harmony with ourselves. As I endeavored to show in my article, 
" Die Bedeutung des Vaters," etc., the most dangerous power of fate lies 
in the infantile libido fixation, localized in the unconscious. The power 
of fate reveals itself at closer range as a compulsion of the libido; 
wherefore Maeterlinck justly says that a Socrates could not possibly be 
a tragic hero of the type of Hamlet. In accordance with this conception 
the ancients had already placed el/uap/uevy (destiny) in relation to "Primal 
Light," or " Primal Fire." In the Stoic conception of the primal cause, 
the warmth spread everywhere, which has created everything and which 
is therefore Destiny. (Compare Cumont: " Mysterien des Mithra," p. 
83.) This warmth is, as will later be shown, a symbol of the libido. 
Another conception of the Ananke (necessity) is, according to the Book 
of Zoroaster, nepl Qvaeus (concerning nature), that the air as wind had 
once a connection with fertility. I am indebted to Rev. Dr. Keller of 
Zurich for calling my attention to Bergson's conception of the " duree 

31 Schiller says in " Wallenstein ": "In your breast lie the constella- 
tions of your fate." " Our fates are the result of our personality," says 
Emerson in his " Essays." Compare with this my remarks in " Die 
Bedeutung des Vaters." 

82 The ascent to the " Idea " is described with unusual beauty in 
Augustine (Bk. X, Ch. 8). The beginning of Ch. 8 reads: "I will raise 
myself over this force of my nature, step by step ascending to Him who 
has made me. I will come to the fields and the spacious palaces of my 

83 The followers of Mithra also called themselves Brothers. In 
philosophical speech Mithra was Logos emanating from God. (Cumont: 
"Myst. des Mithra," p. 102.) 

Besides the followers of Mithra there existed many Brotherhoods 

pp. 49-86] THE HYMN OF CREATION 497 

which were called Thiasai and probably were the organizations from 
which the Church developed later. (A. Kalthoff: "Die Entstehung des 

34 Augustine, who stood in close relation to that period of transition not 
only in point of time but also intellectually, writes in his "Confessions" 
(Bk. VI, Ch. 16) : 

" Nor did I, unhappy, consider from what source it sprung, that even 
on these things, foul as they were, I with pleasure discoursed with my 
carnal pleasures. And yet these friends I loved for themselves only, and 
friends; nor could I, even according to the notions I then had of 
happiness, be happy without friends, amid what abundance soever of 
I felt that I was beloved of them for myself only. O, crooked paths! 
Woe to the audacious soul, which hoped, by forsaking Thee, to gain 
some better thing! Turned it hath, and turned again, upon back, sides, 
and belly, yet all was painful, and Thou alone rest!" (Trans, by 

It is not only an unpsychologic but also an unscientific method of 
procedure to characterize offhand such effects of religion as suggestion. 
Such things are to be taken seriously as the expression of the deepest 
psychologic need. 

36 Both religions teach a pronounced ascetic morality, but at the same 
time a morality of action. The last is true also of Mithracism. Cumont 
says that Mithracism owed its success to the value of its morale: "This 
stimulated to action in an extraordinary degree" ("Myst. des Mithra"). 
The followers of Mithra formed a " sacred legion " for battle against 
evil, and among them were virgins (nuns) and continents (ascetics). 
Whether these brotherhoods had another meaning that is, an economic- 
communistic one is something I will not discuss now. Here only the 
religious-psychologic aspects interest us. Both religions have in common 
the idea of the divine sacrifice. Just as Christ sacrificed himself as the 
Lamb of God, so did Mithra sacrifice his Bull. This sacrifice in both 
religions is the heart of the Mysteries. The sacrificial death of Christ 
means the salvation of the world ; from the sacrifice of the bull of 
Mithra the entire creation springs. 

36 This analytic perception of the roots of the Mystery Religions is 
necessarily one-sided, just as is the analysis of the basis of the religious 
poem. In order to understand the actual causes of the repression in 
Miss Miller one must delve into the moral history of the present; just 
as one is obliged to seek in the ancient moral and economic history the 
actual causes of repression which have given rise to the Mystery cults. 
This investigation has been brilliantly carried out by Kalthoff. (See 
his book, " Die Entstehung des Christentums," Leipzig 1904.) I also 
refer especially to Pohlmann's " Geschichte des antiken Kommunismus 
und Sozialismus"; also to Biicher: "Die Aufstande der unfreien Arbeiter 
143 bis 129 v. Chr.," 1874. 

The other cause of the enormous introversion of the libido in antiquity 
is probably to be found in the fact that an unbelievably large part of 
the people suffered in the wretched state of slavery. It is inevitable that 
finally those who bask in good fortune would be infected in the mys- 
terious manner of the unconscious, by the deep sorrow and still deeper 
misery ^ of their brothers, through which some were driven into orgiastic 
furies.' Others, however, the better ones, sank into that strange world- 
weariness and satiety of the intellectuals of that time. Thus from two 
sources the great introversion was made possible. 

498 THE SONG OF THE MOTH [pp. 87-126 

87 Compare Freud: "The Interpretation of the Dream." 

88 Compare Freud : " Sublimation," in " Three Contributions to the 
Sexual Theory." 

39 In a manner which is closely related to my thought, Kalthoff 
("Entstehung des Christentums ") understands the secularizing of the 
religious interest as a new incarnation of the A<5yo? (word). He says: 
" The profound grasp of the soul of nature evidenced in modern painting 
and poetry, the living intuitive feeling which even science in its most 
austere works can no longer do without, enables us easily to understand 
how the Logos of Greek philosophy which assigned its place in the world 
to the old Christ type, clothed in its world-to-come significance cele- 
brated a new incarnation." 

40 It seems, on account of the isolation of the cult, that this fact was 
the cause of its ruin as well, because the eyes of that time were blinded 
to the beauty of nature. Augustine (Bk. X, Ch. 6) very justly remarks: 
" But they [men] were themselves undone through love for her [crea- 

41 Augustine (ibid.): "But what do I love when I love Thee, Oh God? 
Not the bodily form, nor the earthly sweetness, nor the splendor of the 
light, so dear to these eyes; nor the sweet melodies of the richly varied 
songs; not the flowers and the sweet scented ointments and spices of 
lovely fragrance; not manna and honey; not the limbs of the body 
whose embraces are pleasant to the flesh. I do not love these when I 
love my God, and yet the light, the voice, the fragrance, the food, the 
embrace of my inner man ; when these shine into my soul, which no 
space contains, which no time takes away, where there is a fragrance 
which the wind does not blow away, where there is a taste which no 
gluttony diminishes and where harmony abides which no satiety can 
remove that is what I love, when I love my God." (Perhaps a model 
for Zarathustra: "Die sieben Siegel," Nietzsche's works, VI, p. 33 ff.) 

"Cumont: "Die Mysterien des Mithra. Ein Beitrag zur Religions- 
geschichte der romischen Kaiserzeit." Ubersetzt von Gehrich, Leipzig 
1903, p. 109. 

48 4ist Letter to Lucilius. 
44 Ibid. 


1 Complexes are apt to be of the greatest stability, although their 
outward forms of manifestation change kaleidoscopically. A large 
number of experimental studies have entirely convinced me of this fact. 

2 Julian the Apostate made the last, unsuccessful attempt to cause the 
triumph of Mithracism over Christianity. 

3 This solution of the libido problem was brought about in a similar 
manner by the flight from the world during the first Christian century. 
(The cities of the Anchorites in the deserts of the Orient.) People 
mortified themselves in order to become spiritual and thus escape the 
extreme brutality of the decadent Roman civilization. Asceticism is 
forced sublimation, and is always to be found where the animal impulses 
are still so strong that they must be violently exterminated. The masked 
self-murder of the ascetic needs no further biologic proof. 

pp. 87-126] THE SONG OF THE MOTH 499 

Chamberlain ("Foundations of the Nineteenth Century") sees in the 
problem a biologic suicide because of the enormous amount of illegitimacy 
among Mediterranean peoples at that time. I believe that illegitimacy 
tends rather to mediocrity and to living for pleasure. It appears after 
all that there were, at that time, fine and noble people who, disgusted 
with the frightful chaos of that period which was merely an expression 
of the disruption of the individual, put an end to their lives, and thus 
caused the death of the old civilization with its endless wickedness. 

4 A/*? (Justice), daughter of Zeus and Themis, who, after the Golden 
Age, forsook the degenerate earth. 

"Thanks to this eclogue, Virgil later attained the honor of being a 
semi-Christian poet. To this he owes his position as guide to Dante. 

6 Both are represented not only as Christian, but also as Pagan. Es- 
sener and Therapeuten were quasi orders of the Anchorites living in 
the desert. Probably, as, for instance, may be learned from Apuleius 
("Metamorphoses," lib. XI), there existed small settlements of mystics 
or consecrated ones around the sacred shrines of Isis and Mithra. 
Sexual abstinence and celibacy were also known. 

1 " Below the hills, a marshy plain 

Infects what I so long have been retrieving: 
This stagnant pool likewise to drain 
Were now mv latest and my best achieving. 
To many millions following let me furnish soil." 
The analogy of this expression with the quotation above is striking. 

"Compare Breuer and Freud: " Studien iiber Hysteric"; also Bleuler: 
"Die Psychoanalyse Freuds," Jahrbuch, 1910, Vol. II, 2nd half. 
"Faust (in suicide monologue) : 

"Out on the open ocean speeds my dreaming! 
The glassy flood before my feet is gleaming! 
A new day beckons to a newer shore! 

A fiery chariot, borne on buoyant pinions, 
Sweeps near me now; I soon shall ready be 
To pierce the ether's high, unknown dominions, 
To reach new spheres of pure activity! 
This godlike rapture, this supreme existence 
Do I, but now a worm, deserve to track? 
Yes, resolute to reach some brighter distance; 
On Earth's fair sun I turn my back! 

Ah, that no wing can lift me from the soil, 
Upon its tract to follow, follow soaring! 
Then would I see eternal Evening gild 
The silent world beneath me glowing. 

And now before mine eyes expands the ocean, 
With all its bays in shining sleep! 

The newborn impulse fires my mind, 
I hasten on, his beams eternal drinking." 
We see it is the same longing and the same sun. 

500 THE SONG OF THE MOTH [pp. 87-126 

10 Compare Jung: " Diagnost. Assoc. Stud."; also "The Psychology of 
Dementia Praecox," Chs. II and III. 

11 According to the Christian conception God is Love. 

12 Apuleius ("Met.," lib. XI, 257) : "At manu dextera gerebam flammis 
adultam facem: et caput decora corona cinxerat palmae candidae foliis 
in modum radiorum prosistentibus. Sic ad instar solis exornato et in vicem 
simulacri constituto " (Then in my right hand I carried a burning torch; 
while a graceful chaplet encircled my head, the shining leaves of the 
palm tree projecting from it like rays of light. Thus arrayed like the 
sun, and placed so as to resemble a statue). 

13 The parallel in the Christian mysteries is the crowning with the 
crown of thorns, the exhibition and mocking of the Savior. 

14 In the same way the Sassanian Kings called themselves " Brothers 
of the Sun and of the Moon." In Egypt the soul of every ruler was a 
reduplication of the Sun Horus, an incarnation of the sun. 

18 "The rising at day out of the Underworld." Erman: " Aegypten," 
p. 409. 

18 Compare the coronation above. Feather, a symbol of power. 
Feather crown, a crown of rays, halo. Crowning, as such, is an identi- 
fication with the sun. For example, the spiked crown upon the Roman 
coins made its appearance at the time when the Caesars were identified 
with Sol invictus ("Solis invicti comes"). The halo is the same, that 
is to say, an image of the sun, just as is the tonsure. The priests of Isis 
had smooth-shaven heads like stars. (See Apuleius, "Metamorphoses.") 

17 Compare with this my statements in " Uber die Bedeutung des Vaters 
fur das Schicksal des Einzelnen." Deuticke, Wien. 

18 In the text of the so-called Mithra Liturgy are these lines: " 'Eyw 
flfit av/j.7r^avof ifuv aarijp /cat EK rov /SdQovf avahd/Lnruv ravra oov e'nrovTOf eiiBluf 
6 diaKOf aTrhuQqaeTai" (I am a star wandering about with you and flam- 
ing up from the depths. When thou hast said this, immediately the disc 
of the sun will unfold). The mystic through his prayers implored the 
divine power to cause the disc of the sun to expand. In the same way 
Rostand's " Chantecler " causes the sun to rise by his crowing. 

" For verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard 
seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; 
and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you" (Mat- 
thew xvii:2o). 

19 Compare especially the words of the Gospel of John: "I and my 
Father are one" (John x:3o). "He that hath seen me hath seen the 
Father" (John xiv:g). "Believe me that I am in the Father, and the 
Father in me" (John xiv:n). "I came forth from the Father, and 
am come into the world ; again, I leave the world, and go to the Father " 
(John xvi:28). "I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to 
my God, and your God" (John xx:i7). 

20 See the footnote on p. 137 of text. 

81 Two-bodied : an obscure epithet, if one does not admit that the dual 
life of the redeemed, taught in the mysteries of that time, was attributed 
to God, that is to say, to the libido. Compare the Pauline conception 
of the oZ>[J.a oapKiK.6v and irvev/uariKdv (carnal and spiritual body). In 
the Mithraic worship, Mithra seems to be the divine spirit, while Helios 

pp. 87-126] THE SONG OF THE MOTH 501 

is the material god; to a certain extent the visible lieutenant of the 
divinity. Concerning the confusion between Christ and Sol, see below. 

22 Compare Freud: "Three Contributions to the Sexual Theory." 

23 Renan ("Dialogues et fragments philosophiques," p. 168) says: 
"Before religion had reached the stage of proclaiming that God must 
be put into the absolute and ideal, that is to say, beyond this world, one 
worship alone was reasonable and scientific: that was the worship of 
the sun." 

24 Buber: " Ekstat. Konfess.," p. 51 and on. 

25 " Liebesgesange an Gott," cited by Buber : " Ekstat. Konfess.," 
p. 40. An allied symbolism is found in Carlyle: "The great fact of exist- 
ence is great to him. Fly as he will, he can not get out of the awful 
presence of this reality. His mind is so made; he is great by that first 
of all. Fearful and wonderful, real is life, real is death, is this 
universe to him. Though all men should forget its truth, and walk in 
a vain show, he can not. At all moments the Flame-image glares in 
upon him" ("Heroes and Hero-Worship"). 

One can select from literature at random. For example, S. Friedlander 
(Berlin-Halensee) says in Jugend, 1910, No. 35, p. 823: "Her longing 
demands from the beloved only the purest. Like the sun, it burns to 
ashes with the flame of excessive life, which refuses to be light," and 
so on. 

2e Buber: Ibid., p. 45. 

2T I emphasize this passage because its idea contains the psychological 
root of the " Wandering of the soul in Heaven," the conception of which 
is very ancient. It is a conception of the wandering sun which from 
its rising to its setting wanders over the world. The wandering gods 
are representations of the sun, that is, symbols of the libido. This 
comparison is indelibly impressed in the human phantasy as is shown by 
the poem of Wesendonck: 


The sun, every evening weeping, 

Reddens its beautiful eyes for you; 

When early death seizes you, 

Bathing in the mirror of the sea. 

Still in its old splendor 

The glory rises from the dark world; 

You awaken anew in the morning 

Like a proud conqueror. 

Ah, why then should I lament, 

When my heart, so heavy, sees you? 

Must the sun itself despair? 

Must the sun set? 

And does death alone bear life? 

Do griefs alone give joys? 

O, how grateful I am that 

Such pains have given me nature! 
Another parallel is in the poem of Ricarda Huch: 
As the earth, separating from the sun, 
Withdraws in quick flight into the stormy night, 

502 THE SONG OF THE MOTH [pp. 87-126 

Starring the naked body with cold snow, 
Deafened, it takes away the summer joy. 
And sinking deeper in the shadows of winter, 
Suddenly draws close to that which it flees, 
Sees itself warmly embraced with rosy light 
Leaning against the lost consort. 
Thus I went, suffering the punishment of exile, 
Away from your countenance, into the ancient place. 
Unprotected, turning to the desolate north, 
Always retreating deeper into the sleep of death; 
And then would I awake on your heart, 
Blinded by the splendor of the dawn. 

38 The whistling and snapping is a tasteless, archaic relic, an allure- 
ment for the theriomorphic divinity, probably also an infantile rem- 
iniscence (quieting the child by whistling and snapping). Of similar 
significance is the roaring at the divinity. ("Mithr. Lit.," p. 13): "You 
are to look at him and give forth a long roar, as with a horn, using all 
your breath, pressing your sides, and kiss the amulet . . . etc." " My 
soul roars with the voice of a hungry lion," says Mechthild von Magde- 
burg. " As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul 
after God." Psalms xlii:2. The ceremonial custom, as so often happens, 
has dwindled into a figure of speech. Dementia praecox, however, 
revivifies the old custom, as in the " Roaring miracle " of Schreber. See 
the latter's " Denkwiirdigkeiten eines Nervenkranken," by which he de- 
mands that God, i.e. the Father, so inadequately oriented with humanity, 
take notice of his existence. 

The infantile reminiscence is clear, that is, the childish cry to attract 
the attention of the parent to himself; the whistling and smacking for the 
allurement of the theriomorphic attribute, the "helpful animal." (See 
Rank: "The Myth of the Birth of the Hero.") 

29 The water-god Sobk, appearing as a crocodile, was identified with 

80 Erman: "Aegypten," p. 354. 
"Erman: Ibid., p. 355. 

82 Compare above aorepaf TrevradaKTvlitaiove (" five-fingered stars "). 

83 The bull Apis is a manifestation of Ptah. The bull is a well-known 
symbol of the sun. 

34 Amon. 

38 Sobk of Faijum. 

sa The God of Dedu in the Delta, who was worshipped as a piece of 
wood. (Phallic.) 

37 This reformation, which was inaugurated with much fanaticism, 
soon broke down. 

88 Apuleius, " Met," lib. XI, p. 239. 

89 It is noteworthy that the humanists too (I am thinking of an expres- 
sion of the learned Mutianus Rufus) soon perceived that antiquity had 
but two gods, that is, a masculine god and a feminine god. 

40 Not only was the light- or fire-substance ascribed to the divinity 
but also to the soul ; as for example in the system of Mani, as well as 

pp. 87-126] THE SONG OF THE MOTH 503 

among the Greeks, where it was characterized as a fiery breath of air. 
The Holy Ghost of the New Testament appears in the form of flames 
around the heads of the Apostles, because the irvevfta was under- 
stood to mean "fiery" (Dieterich: Ibid., p. 116). Very similar is the 
Iranian conception of Hvareno, by which is meant the " Grace of 
Heaven " through which a monarch rules. By " Grace " is understood 
a sort of fire or shining glory, something very substantial (Cumont: 
Ibid., p. 70). We come across conceptions allied in character in Kerner's 
" Seherin von Prevorst," and in the case published by me, "Psychologic 
und Pathologic sogenannter occulter Phanomene." Here not only the 
souls consist of a spiritual light-substance, but the entire world is con- 
structed according to the white-black system of the Manichaeans and 
this by a fifteen-year-old girl! The intellectual over-accomplishment 
which I observed earlier in this creation, is now revealed as a con- 
sequence of energetic introversion, which again roots up deep historical 
strata of the soul and in which I perceive a regression to the memories 
of humanity condensed in the unconscious. 

41 1 add to this a quotation from Firmicus Maternus (Mathes. I, 5, 9, 
cit. by Cumont: " Textes et Monuments," I, p. 40): " Cui (animo) 
descensus per orbem solis tribuitur " (To this spirit the descent through 
the orb of the sun is attributed). 

42 St. Hieronymus remarks, concerning Mithra who was born in a 
miraculous manner from a rock, that this birth was the result of " solo 
aestu libidinis" (merely through the heat of the libido) (Cumont: 
"Textes et Monuments," I, p. 163). 

"Mead: "A Mithraic Ritual." London 1907, p. 22. 

44 1 am indebted to my friend and co-worker, Dr. Riklin, for the 
knowledge of the following case which presents an interesting symbolism. 
It concerns a paranoic who passed over into a manifest megalomaniac 
in the following way: She suddenly saw a strong light, a 'wind blew upon 
her, she felt as if " her heart turned over," and from that moment she 
knew that God had visited her and was in her. 

I wish to refer here to the interesting correlation of mythological and 
pathological forms disclosed in the analytical investigation of Dr. S. 
Spielrein, and expressly emphasize that she has discovered the sym- 
bolisms presented by her in the Jahrbuch, through independent experi- 
mental work, in no way connected with my work. 

45 According to the Chaldean teaching the sun occupies the middle 
place in the choir of the seven planets. 

46 The Great Bear consists of seven stars. 

47 Mithra is frequently represented with a knife in one hand and a 
torch in the other. The knife as an instrument of sacrifice plays an 
important role in his myth. 

48 Ibid. 

49 Compare with this the scarlet mantle of Helios in the Mithra liturgy. 
It was a part of the rites of the various cults to be dressed in the bloody 
skins of the sacrificial animals, as in the Lupercalia, Dionysia and 
Saturnalia, the last of which has bequeathed to us the Carnival, the 
typical figure of which, in Rome, was the priapic Pulcinella. 

504 THE SONG OF THE MOTH [pp. 87-126 

80 Compare the linen-clad retinue of Helios. Also the bull-headed gods 
wear white rre/3to//ara (aprons). 

"The title of Mithra in Vendidad XIX, 28; cit. by Cumont: " Textes 
et Monuments," p. 37. 

" The development of the sun symbol in Faust does not go as far as 
an anthropomorphic vision. It stops in the suicide scene at the chariot 
of Helios ("A fiery chariot borne on buoyant pinions sweeps near me 
now"). The fiery chariot comes to receive the dying or departing hero, 
as in the ascension of Elijah or of Mithra. (Similarly Francis of 
Assisi.) In his flight Faust passes over the sea, just as does Mithra. 
The ancient Christian pictorial representations of the ascension of 
Elijah are partly founded upon the corresponding Mithraic representa- 
tions. The horses of the sun-chariot rushing upwards to Heaven leave 
the solid earth behind, and pursue their course over a water god, Oceanus, 
lying at their feet. (Cumont: "Textes et Monuments." Bruxelles 1899, 
I, p. 178.) 

58 Compare my article, " Psych, und Path. sog. occ. Phan." 

"Quoted from Pitra: " Analecta sacra," cit. by Cumont: "Textes et 
Monuments," p. 355. 

"Cited from Usener: " Weihnachtsfest," p. 5. 

86 The passage from Malachi is found in chap, iv, 2: "But unto you 
that fear my name shall the Sun of Righteousness arise with healing in 
His wings" (feathers). This figure of speech recalls the Egyptian sun 

87 Cumont: "Textes et Monuments," t. I, p. 355. irepl aarpov6fiuv. 

88 The pictures in the Catacombs contain much symbolism of the sun. 
The Swastika cross, for example a well-known image of the sun, wheel 
of the sun, or sun's feet is found upon the garment of Fossor Diogenes 
in the cemetery of Peter and Marcellinus. The symbols of the rising sun, 
the bull and the ram, are found in the Orpheus fresco of the cemetery 
of the holy Domitilla. Similarly the ram and the peacock (which, like 
the phoenix, is the symbol of the sun) is found upon an epitaph of the 
Callistus Catacomb. 

59 Compare the countless examples in Gorres: ".Die christliche 

60 Compare Leblant: " Sarcophages de la Gaule," 1880. In the "Homi- 
lies" of Clement of Rome ("Horn.," II, 23, cit. by Cumont) it is said: 
Tt> Kvpi(f) ytyovacLV d&dexa cnr6aTO%oi T&V TOV ijkiot) dudena fjnjvuv Qepovref 
rbv apiBfi6v (The twelve apostles of the Lord, having the number of 
the twelve months of the sun). As is apparent, this idea is concerned 
with the course of the sun through the Zodiac. Without wishing to enter 
upon an interpretation of the Zodiac, I mention that, according to the 
ancient view (probably Chaldean), the course of the sun was represented 
by a snake which carried the signs of the Zodiac on its back (similarly 
to the Leontocephalic God of the Mithra mysteries). This view is proven 
by a passage from a Vatican Codex edited by Cumont in another con- 
nection (190, saec. XIII, p. 229, p. 85) : "rdre 6 7rav<ro0oc fyfuovpydf anpu 

fKivTjae TOV ^ikyav ApaaovTa avv r J nenoofiJifitvu aretyavi,), Aeyw 6^ TO. J/S' cj- 
z, /SaffrdCovra k-rrl TOV VUTOV CLVTOV" (The all-wise maker of the world 
set in motion the great dragon with the adorned crown, with a command 

pp. 87-126] THE SONG OF THE MOTH 505 

at the end. I speak now of the twelve images borne on the back of 

This inner connection of the C^'&a (small images) with the zodiacal 
snake is worthy of notice and gives food for thought. The Manichaean 
system attributes to Christ the symbol of the snake, and indeed of the 
snake on the tree of Paradise. For this the quotation from John gives 
far-reaching justification (John iii:i4): "And as Moses lifted up the 
serpent in the wilderness, even so must the son of man be lifted up." 
An old theologian, Hauff ("Biblische Real- und Verbalkonkordanz," 
1834), makes this careful observation concerning this quotation: "Christ 
considered the Old Testament story an unintentional symbol of the idea 
of the atonement." The almost bodily connection of the followers with 
Christ is well known. (Romans xii:4) : "For as we have many members 
in one body, and all members have not the same office, so we being 
many are one body in Christ, and every one members one of another." 
If confirmation is needed that the zodiacal signs are symbols of the libido, 
then the sentence in John i : 29, " Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh 
away the sin of the world," assumes a significant meaning. 

81 According to an eleventh-century manuscript in Munich ; Albrecht 
Wirth: " Aus orientalischen Chroniken," p. 151. Frankfurt 1894. 

62 Abeghian: " Der armenische Volksglaube," p. 41, 1899. 

68 Compare Aigremont: "Fuss- und Schuhsymbolik," Leipzig 1909. 

64 Attis was later assimilated with Mithra. Like Mithra he was 
represented with the Phrygian cap (Cumont: " Myst. des Mith.," p. 65). 
According to the testimony of Hieronymus, the manger (Geburtshohle) 
at Bethlehem was originally a sanctuary (Spelaeum) of Attis (Usener: 
" Weihnachtsfest," p. 283). 

"Cumont ("Die Mysterien des Mithra," p. 4) says of Christianity 
and Mithracism: "Both opponents perceived with astonishment how 
similar they were in many respects, without being able to account for the 
causes of this similarity." 

68 Our present-day moral views come into conflict with this wish in so 
far as it concerns the erotic fate. The erotic adventures necessary for 
so many people are often all too easily given up because of moral 
opposition, and one willingly allows himself to be discouraged because 
of the social advantages of being moral. 

97 The poetical works of Lord Byron. 

"Edmond Rostand: "Cyrano de Bergerac," Paris 1898. 

89 The projection into the " cosmic " is the primitive privilege of the 
libido, for it enters into our perception naturally through all the avenues 
of the senses, apparently from without, and in the form of pain and 
pleasure connected with the objects. This we attribute to the object 
without further thought, and we are inclined, in spite of our philosophic 
considerations, to seek the causes in the object, which often has very 
little concern with it. (Compare this with the Freudian conception of 
Transference, especially Firenczi's remarks in his paper, " Introjektion 
und Ubertragung," Jahrbuch, Vol. I, p. 422.) Beautiful examples 
of direct libido projection are found in erotic songs: 

" Down on the strand, down on the shore, 
A maiden washed the kerchief of her lover; 
And a soft west wind came blowing over the shore, 

5o6 THE SONG OF THE MOTH [pp. 87-126 

Lifted her skirt a little with its breeze 

And let a little of her ankles be seen, 

And the seashore became as bright as all the world." 

(Neo-Grecian Folksong from Sanders: "Das Volks- 
leben der Neugriechen," 1844, p. 81, cit. Zeit- 
scrift des Vereines fur Volkskunde, Jahrgang XII, 
1902, p. 1 66.) 

" In the farm of Gymir I saw 
A lovely maiden coming toward me; 
From the brilliance of her arm glowed 
The sky and all the everlasting sea." 

(From the Edda, tr. (into Ger.) by H. Gering, p. 

53; Zeitschrift fur Volkskunde, Jahrgang XII, 1902, 

p. 167.) 

Here, too, belong all the miraculous stories of cosmic events, phenomena 
occurring at the birth and death of heroes. (The Star of Bethlehem; 
earthquakes, the rending asunder of the temple hangings, etc., at the 
death of Christ.) The omnipotence of God is the manifest omnipotence 
of the libido, the only actual doer of wonders which we know. The 
symptom described by Freud, as the " omnipotence of thought " in Com- 
pulsion Neuroses arises from the " sexualizing" of the intellect. The 
historical parallel for this is the magical omnipotence of the mystic, 
attained by introversion. The " omnipotence of thought " corresponds to 
the identification with God of the paranoic, arrived at similarly through 

70 Comparable to the mythological heroes who after their greatest 
deeds fall into spiritual confusion. 

71 Here I must refer you to the blasphemous piety of Zinzendorf, which 
has been made accessible to us by the noteworthy investigation of Pfister. 

72 Anah is really the beloved of Japhet, the son of Noah. She leaves 
him because of the angel. 

" The one invoked is really a star. Compare Miss Miller's poem. 

74 Really an attribute of the wandering sun. 

75 Compare Miss Miller's poem. 

" My poor life is gone, 

then having gained 

One raptured glance, I'll die content, 

For I the source of beauty, warmth and life 

Have in his perfect splendor once beheld." 

78 The light-substance of God. 

17 The light-substance of the individual soul. 

' 8 The bringing together of the two light-substances shows their 
common origin; they are the symbols of the libido. Here they are figures 
of speech. In earlier times they were doctrines. According to Mechthild 
von Magdeburg the soul is made out of love (" Das fliessende Licht der 
Gottheit," herausgegeben von Escherich, Berlin 1909). 

79 Compare what is said above about the snake symbol of the libido. 

pp. 87-126] THE SONG OF THE MOTH 507 

The idea that the climax means at the same time the end, even death, 
forces itself here. 

80 Compare the previously mentioned pictures of Stuck: Vice, Sin and 
Lust, where the woman's naked body is encircled by the snake. Funda- 
mentally it is a symbol of the most extreme fear of death. The death 
of Cleopatra may be mentioned here. 

81 Encircling by the serpent. 



1 This is the way it appears to us from the psychological standpoint. 
See below. 

2 Samson as Sun-god. See Steinthal : " Die Sage von Simson," Zeit- 
schrift fur Volkerpsychologie, Vol. II. 

8 1 am indebted for the knowledge of this fragment to Dr. Van 
Ophuijsen of The Hague. 

4 Rudra, properly father of the Maruts (winds), a wind or sun god, 
appears here as the sole creator God, as shown in the course of the 
text. The role of creator and fructifier easily belongs to him as wind 
god. I refer to the observations in Part I concerning Anaxagoras and 
to what follows. 

6 This and the following passages from the Upanishads are quoted 
from: "The Upanishads," translated by R. G. S. Mead and J. C. Chat- 
topadhyaya. London 1896. 

6 In a similar manner, the Persian sun-god Mithra is endowed with 
an immense number of eyes. 

7 Whoever has in himself, God, the sun, is immortal, like the sun. 
Compare Pt. I, Ch. 5. 

8 He was given that name because he had introduced the phallic cult 
into Greece. In gratitude to him for having buried the mother of the 
serpents, the young serpents cleaned his ears, so that he became clairaudi- 
ent and understood the language of birds and beasts. 

9 Compare the vase picture of Thebes, where the Cabiri are repre- 
sented in noble and in caricatured form (in Roscher: "Lexicon," s. 
Megaloi Theoi). 

10 The justification for calling the Dactyli thumbs is given in a note 
in Pliny: 37, 170, according to which there were in Crete precious stones 
of iron color and thumblike shape which were called Idaean Dactyli. 

11 Therefore, the dactylic metre or verse. 

12 See Roscher: "Lexicon of Greek and Roman Mythology," s. 

18 According to Jensen: " Kosmologie," p. 292, Oannes-Ea is the edu- 
cator of men. 

14 Inman: "Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian Symbolism." 

15 Varro identifies the fie-ydhoi Beoi with the Penates. The Cabiri might 
be simulacra duo virilia Castoris et Pollucis in the harbor of Samothrace. 

16 In Brasiae on the Laconian coast and in Pephnos some statues 
only a foot high with caps on their heads were found. 


pp. 127-138] ASPECTS OF THE LIBIDO 509 

17 That the monks have again invented cowls seems of no slight 

18 Zentralblatt fur Psychoanalyse, II, p. 187. 

19 The typical motive of the youthful teacher of wisdom has also 
been introduced into the Christ myth in the scene of the twelve-year-old 
Jesus in the temple. 

20 Next to this, there is a female figure designated as KPATEIA, 
which means "one who brings forth" (Orphic). 

"Roscher: "Lexicon," s. v. Megaloi Theoi. 
"Roscher: "Lexicon," s. v. Phales. 

23 Compare Freud's evidence, Zentralblatt fur Psychoanalyse, I, 
p. 1 88. I must remark at this place that etymologically penis and 
penates are not grouped together. On the contrary, roof, ir6o$ij t 
Sanskrit pdsa-fy, Latin penis, were given with the Middle High German 
visel (penis) and Old High German fasel the significance of foetus, 
proles. (Walde: " Latin Etymologic," s. Penis.) 

24 Stekel in his " Traumsymbolik " has traced out this sort of repre- 
sentation of the genitals, as has Spielrein also in a case of dementia 
praecox. 1912 Jahrbuch, Vol. Ill, p. 369. 

26 The figure of Kpdreia, the one who " brings forth," placed beside 
it is surprising in that the libido occupied in creating religion has 
apparently developed out of the primitive relation to the mother. 

29 In Freud's paper (" Psychoanalytische Bemerkungen iiber einen 
Fall von Paranoia usw.," 1912 Jahrbuch, Vol. Ill, p. 68), which ap- 
peared simultaneously with the first part of my book, he makes an 
observation absolutely parallel to the meaning of my remarks con- 
cerning the " libido theory " resulting from the phantasies of the insane 
Schreber: Schreber's divine rays composed by condensation of sun's rays, 
nerve fibres and sperma are really nothing else but the libido fixations 
projected outside and objectively represented, and lend to his delusion 
a striking agreement with our theory. That the world must come to 
an end because the ego of the patient attracts all the rays to himself; 
that later during the process of reconstruction he must be very anxious 
lest God sever the connection of the rays with him: these and certain 
other peculiarities of Schreber's delusion sound very like the foregoing 
endopsychic perceptions, on the assumption of which I have based the 
interpretation of paranoia. 

27 " Tuscalanarum quaestionum," lib. IV. 

28 "Pro Quint," 14. 

"Walde: "Latin Etymological Dictionary," 1910. See libet. Libert 
(children) is grouped together with libet by Nazari ("Riv. di Fil.," 
XXXVI, 573). Could this be proven, then Liber, the Italian god 
of procreation, undoubtedly connected with liberi, would also be grouped 
with libet. Libitina is the goddess of the dead, who would have nothing 
in common with Lubentina and Lubentia (attribute of Venus), which 
belongs to libet; the name is as yet unexplained. (Compare the later 
comments in this work.) Libare = to pour (to sacrifice?) and is sup- 
posed to have nothing to do with liber. The etymology of libido show.s 
not only the central setting of the idea, but also the connection with 

510 CONCEPTION AND THEORY [pp. 139-156 

the German Liebe (love). We are obliged to say under these 
circumstances that not only the idea, but also the word libido is well 
chosen for the subject under discussion. 

80 A corrected view on the conservation of energy in the light of the 
theory of cognition might offer the comment that this picture is the pro- 
jection of an endopsychic perception of the equivalent transformations 
of the libido. 


1 Freud: "Three Contributions to the Sexual Theory," p. 29. Trans- 
lation by Brill. " In a non-sexual ' impulse ' originating from impulses 
of motor sources we can distinguish a contribution from a stimulus- 
receiving organ, such as the skin, mucous membrane, and sensory 
organs. This we shall here designate as an erogenous zone; it is that 
organ the stimulus of which bestows on the impulse the sexual char- 

2 Freud: Ibid., p. 14. "One definite kind of contiguity, consisting of 
mutual approximation of the mucous membranes of the lips in the 
form of a kiss, has among the most civilized nations received a sexual 
value, though the parts of the body concerned do not belong to the sexual 
apparatus but form the entrance to the digestive tract." 

8 See Freud: Ibid. 

4 An old view which Mobius endeavored to bring again to its own. 
Among the newcomers it is Fouillee, Wundt, Beneke, Spencer, Ribot 
and others, who grant the psychologic primate to the impulse system. 

6 Freud: Ibid., p. 25. "I must repeat that these psychoneuroses, as 
far as my experience goes, are based on sexual motive powers. I do 
not mean that the energy of the sexual impulse contributes to the forces 
supporting the morbid manifestations (symptoms), but I wish distinctly 
to maintain that this supplies the only constant and the most important 
source of energy in the neurosis, so that the sexual life of such persons 
manifests itself either exclusively, preponderately, or partially in these 

8 That scholasticism is still firmly rooted in mankind is only 
too easily proven, and an illustration of this is the fact that not the 
least of the reproaches directed against Freud, is that he has changed 
certain of his earlier conceptions. Woe to those who compel mankind 
to learn anew ! " Les savants ne sont pas curieux." 

7 Jahrbuch, Vol. Ill, p. 65. 

8 Schreber's case is not a pure paranoia in the modern sense. 
8 Also in " Der Inhalt der Psychose," 1908. 

10 Compare Jung: "The Psychology of Dementia Praecox," p. 114. 

11 For example, in a frigid woman who as a result of a specific sexual 
repression does not succeed in bringing the libido sexualis to the hus- 
band, the parent imago is present and she produces symptoms which 
belong to that environment. 

12 Similar transgression of the sexual sphere might also occur in 
hysterical psychoses; that indeed is included with the definition of the 
psychosis and means nothing but a general disturbance of adaptation. 


" Die psychosexuellen Differenzen der Hysteric und der Dementia 
:cox," Zentralblatt fur Nervenheilkunde und Psychiatric, 1908. 



14 " Introjektion und Ubertragung," Jahrbuch, Vol. I, p. 422. 
"See Avenarius: " Menschliche Weltbegriffe," p. 25. 
18 " Welt als Wille und Vorstellung," Vol. I, p. 54. 

17 " Theogonie." 

18 Compare Roscher : " Lexicon," p. 2248. 

19 Drews: " Plotinus," Jena 1907, p. 127. 

20 Ibid., p. 132. 
"Ibid., p. 135. 

"Plotinus: " Enneades," II, 5, 3. 
"Plotinus: "Enneades," IV, 8, 3. 
24 " Enneades," III, 5, 9. 

26 Ibid., p. 141. 

a " Naturally this does not mean that the function of reality owes its 
existence to the differentiation in procreative instincts exclusively. I am 
aware of the undetermined great part played by the function of 

27 Malthusianism is the artificial setting forth of the natural tendency. 
38 For instance, in the form of procreation as in general of the will. 

29 Freud in his work on paranoia has allowed himself to be carried 
over the boundaries of his original conception of libido by the facts of 
this illness. He there uses libido even for the function of reality, which 
cannot be reconciled with the standpoint of the "Three Contributions." 

80 Bleuler arrives at this conclusion from the ground of other con- 
siderations, which I cannot always accept. See Bleuler, " Dementia 
Praecox," in Aschaffenburg's "Handbuch der Psychiatric." 

81 See Jung: " Kritik iiber E. Bleuler: Zur Theorie des schizophrenen 
Negativismus." Jahrbuch, Vol. Ill, p. 469. 

82 Spielrein: " tJber den psychologischen Inhalt eines Falles von 
Schizophrenic." Jahrbuch, Vol. Ill, p. 329. 

83 His researches are in my possession and their publication is in 

84 Honegger made use of this example in his lecture at the private 
psychoanalytic congress in Niirnberg, 1910. 

85 Spielrein: Ibid., pp. 338, 353, 387. For soma as the "effusion of 
the seed," see what follows. 

36 Compare Berthelot: " Les Alchemistes Grecs," and Spielrein: Ibid., 
P- 353- 

87 1 cannot refrain from observing that this vision reveals the original 
meaning of alchemy. A primitive magic power for generation, that is 
to say, a means by which children could be produced without the mother. 

512 THE TRANSFORMATION [pp. 157-190 

S8 Spielrein: Ibid., pp. 338, 345. 

89 I must mention here those Indians who create the first people from 
the union of a sword hilt and a shuttle. 

"Ibid., p. 399. 


1 Naturally a precursor of onanism. 

2 This true catatonic pendulum movement of the head, I saw arise 
in the case of a catatonic patient, from the coitus movements gradually 
shifted upwards. This Freud has described long ago as a shifting from 
below to above. 

3 She put the small fragments which fell out into her mouth and ate 

4 "Dreams and Myths." Vienna 1909. Translated by Wm. A. White, 

6 A. Kuhn: " Mythologische Studien," Vol. I: "Die Herabkunft des 
Feuers und des Gottertrankes." Gutersloh 1886. A very readable 
resume of the contents is to be found in Steinthal : " Die urspriingliche 
Form der Sage von Prometheus," Zeitschrift fur Volkerpsychologie und 
Sprachwissenschaft, Vol. II, 1862; also in Abraham: Ibid. 

6 Also mathnami and mathayati. The root manth or math has a 
special significance. 

7 Zeitschrift fur vergleichende Sprachforschung, Vol. II, p. 395, and 
Vol. IV, p. 124. 

8 Bapp in Roscher's " Lexicon," Sp. 3034. 

9 Bhrgu = faeyv, a recognized connection of sound. See Roscher : Sp. 
3034, 54- 

10 For the eagle as a fire token among the Indians, see Roscher: Sp. 
3034, 60. 

11 The stem manth according to Kuhn becomes in German 
mangeln, rollen (referring to washing). Manthara is the butter 
paddle. When the gods generated the amrta (drink of immortality) 
by twirling the ocean around, they used the mountain Mandara as the 
paddle (see Kuhn: Ibid., p. 17). Steinthal calls attention to the Latin 
expression in poetical speech: mentula = male member, in which ment 
(manth} was used. I add here also, mentula is to be taken as diminu- 
tive for menta or mentha (/m>#a), Minze. In antiquity the Minze was 
called "Crown of Aphrodite" (Dioscorides, II, 154). Apuleius called 
it "mentha venerea"; it was an aphrodisiac. (The opposite meaning is 
found in Hippocrates: Si quis earn saepe comedat, ejus genitale semen 
ita colliquescit, ut effluat, et arrigere prohibet et corpus imbecillum reddit, 
and according to Dioscorides, Minze is a means of preventing conception. 
(See Aigremont: " Volkserotik und Pflanzenwelt," Vol. I, p. 127). But the 
ancients also said of Menta: "Menta autem appellata, quod suo odore 
mentem feriat mentae ipsius odor animum excitat." This leads us to 
the root ment in Latin mens; English, mind with which the parallel 
development to pramantha, Ilpow&Evs, would be completed. Still to be 
added is that an especially strong chin is called mento (mentum). 
A special development of the chin is given, as we know, to the priapic 

pp. 157-190] THE TRANSFORMATION 513 

figure of Pulcinello, also the pointed beard (and ears) of the satyrs and 
the other priapic demon, just as in general all the protruding parts of 
the body can be given a masculine significance and all the receding 
parts or depressions a feminine significance. This applies also to all 
other animate or inanimate objects. See Maeder: Psycho.-Neurol. 
Wochenschr., X. Jahrgang. However, this whole connection is more 
than a little uncertain. 

12 Abraham observes that in Hebrew the significance of the words 
for man and woman is related to this symbolism. 

""What is called the gulya (pudendum) means the yoni (the birth- 
place) of the God; the fire, which was born there, is called 'beneficent" 1 
("Katyayanas Karmapradipa," I, 7; translated by Kuhn: " Herab- 
kunft des Feuers," p. 67). The etymologic connection between bohren 
geboren is possible. The Germanic boron (to bore) is primarily related 
to the Latin forare and the Greek yapau = to plow. Possibly it is 
an Indo-Germanic root bher with the meaning to bear; Sanscrit bhar-; 
Greek $ep-\ Latin fer-; from this Old High German beran, English to 
bear, Latin fero and fertilis, fordus (pregnant) ; Greek 0op<5f. Walde 
("Latin Erym.," s. Ferio) traces forare to the root bher-. Compare with 
this the phallic symbolism of the plough, which we meet later on. 

"Weber: " Indische Studien," I, 197; quoted by Kuhn: Ibid., p. 71. 
16 " Rigveda," III, 291 to 3. 

19 Or mankind in general. Vic.patni is the feminine wood, vigpati, an 
attribute of Agni, the masculine. In the instruments of fire lies the 
origin of the human race, from the same perverse logic as in the before- 
mentioned shuttle and sword-hilt. Coitus as the means of origin of 
the human race must be denied, from the motive, to be more fully dis- 
cussed later, of a primitive resistance against sexuality. 

17 Wood as the symbol of the mother is well known from the dream 
investigation of the present time. See Freud: "Dream Interpretation." 
Stekel ("Sprache des Traumes," p. 128) explains it as the symbol of 
the woman. Wood is also a German vulgar term for the breast. 
("Wood before the house.") The Christian wood symbolism needs a 
chapter by itself. The son of Ila: Ila is the daughter of Manus, the 
one and only, who with the help of his fish has overcome the deluge, 
and then with his daughter again procreated the human race. 

18 See Hirt: "Etymologic der neuhochdeutschen Sprache," p. 348. 

"The capitular of Charlemagne of 942 forbade "those sacrilegious 
fires which are called Niedfyr." See Grimm: " Mythologie," 4th edition, 
p. 502. Here there are to be found descriptions of similar fire cere- 

20 Kuhn: Ibid., p. 43. 

"Preuss: " Globus," LXXXVI, 1905, S. 358. 

22 Compare with this Friedrich Schultze : " Psychologic der Natur- 
volker," p. 161. 

38 This primitive play leads to the phallic symbolism of the plough. 
'Apovv means to plough and possesses in addition the poetic meaning 
of impregnate. The Latin arare means merely to plough, but the phrase 
"fundum alienum arare" means "to pluck cherries in a neighbor's 


garden." A striking representation of the phallic plough is found on 
a vase in the archeological museum in Florence. It portrays a row 
of six naked ithyphallic men who carry a plough represented phallically 
(Dieterich: "Mutter Erde," p. 107). The "carrus navalis " of our 
spring festival (carnival) was at times during the Middle Ages a 
plough (Hahn: " Demeter und Baubo," quoted by Dieterich: Ibid., p. 
109). Dr. Abegg of Zurich called my attention to the clever work of 
R. Meringer ("Worter und Sachen. Indogermanische Forschungen," 16, 
179/84, 1904). We are made acquainted there with a very far-reaching 
amalgamation of the libido symbols with the external materials and 
external activities, which support our previous considerations to an 
extraordinary degree. Meringer's assumption proceeds from the two 
Indo-Germanic roots, uen and ueneti. Indo-Germanic *uen Holz, ai. 
ist. van, vana. Agni is garbhas <vandm, "fruit of the womb of the 

Indo-Germanic *ueneti signifies "he ploughs": by that is meant the 
penetration of the ground by means of a sharpened piece of wood and 
the throwing up of the earth resulting from it. This verb itself is not 
verified because this very primitive working of the ground was given 
up at an early time. When a better treatment of the fields was learned, 
the primitive designation for the ploughed field was given to the pasture, 
therefore Gothic vinja, vo^y, Old Icelandic win, pasture, meadow. Per- 
haps also the Icelandic Vanen, as Gods of agriculture, came from that. 

From ackern (to plough) sprang coire (the connection might have 
been the other way); also Indo-Germanic * uenos (enjoyment of love), 
Latin venus. Compare with this the root uen = wood. Coire =. pas- 
sionately to strive; compare Old High German vinnan, to rave or to 
storm; also the Gothic vens; eAirif = hope ; Old High German <wdn = 
expectation, hope; Sanscrit van, to desire or need; further, Wonne (de- 
light, ecstasy) ; Old Icelandic vinr (beloved, friend). From the meaning 
ackern (to plough) arises ivohnen (to live). This transition has been 
completed only in the German. From wohnen-^gewohnen, geiuohnt sein 
(to be accustomed), Old Icelandic vanr = geiuohnt (to be accustomed); 
from ackern further-*-VA mtihen, plagen (to take much trouble, wearing 
work), Old Icelandic vinna, to work: Old High German ivinnan (to toil 
hard, to overwork); Gothic vinnan, iraaxw t vunns,ira&iH*a. From ackern 
comes, on the other hand, gewinnen erlangen (to win, to attain), Old 
High German giwinnan, but also verletzen (to injure) : Gothic vundi 
(wund), wound. Wund in the beginning, the most primal sense, was 
therefore the ground torn up by the wooden implement. From verletzen 
(to injure) come schlagen (to strike), besiegen (to conquer) : Old High 
German ivinna (strife) ; Old Saxon winnan (to battle). 

34 The old custom of making the " bridal bed " upon the field, which 
was for the purpose of rendering the field fertile, contains the primitive 
thought in the most elementary form; by that the analogy was expressed 
in the clearest manner: Just as I impregnate the woman, so do I impreg- 
nate the earth. The symbol leads the sexual libido over to the cultiva- 
tion of the earth and to its fruitfulness. Compare with that Mannhardt: 
" Wald- und Feldkulte," where there are abundant illustrations. 

25 Spielrein's patient (Jahrbuch, III, p. 371) associates fire and genera- 
tion in an unmistakable manner. She says as follows concerning it: 
" One needs iron for the purpose of piercing the earth and for the 
purpose of creating fire." This is to be found in the Mithra liturgy as 
well. In the invocation to the fire god, it is said: 6 owdyoaf 

pp. 157-190] THE TRANSFORMATION 515 

TO. rrvptva Kfctdpa TOV ovpavov (Thou who hast closed up the fiery locks of 
heaven, with the breath of the spirit, open to me). "With iron one 
can create cold people from the stone." The boring into the earth has 
for her the meaning of fructification or birth. She says: "With the 
glowing iron one can pierce through mountains. The iron becomes 
glowing when one pushes it into a stone." 

Compare with this the etymology of bohren and gebdren (see above). 
In the " Bluebird " of Maeterlinck the two children who seek the bluebird 
in the land of the unborn children, find a boy who bores into his nose. 
It is said of him: he will discover a new fire, so as to warm the earth 
again, when it will have grown cold. 

"Compare with this the interesting proofs in Biicher: "Arbeit und 
Rhythmus," Leipzig 1899. 

" Amusement is undoubtedly coupled with many rites, but by no means 
with all. There are some very unpleasant things. 

28 The Upanishads belong to the Brahmana, to the theology of the 
Vedic writings, and comprise the theosophical-speculative part of the 
Vedic teachings. The Vedic writings and collections are in part of 
very uncertain age and may reach back to a very distant past because 
for a long period they were handed down only orally. 

38 The primal and omniscient being, the idea of whom, translated 
into psychology, is comprehended in the conception of libido. 

30 Atman is also considered as originally a bisexual being correspond- 
ing to the libido theory. The world sprang from desire. Compare 
Bnhaddranyaka-Upanishad, I, 4, i (Deussen) : 

"(i) In the beginning this world was Atman alone he looked 

around: Then he saw nothing but himself. 
"(2) Then he was frightened; therefore, one is afraid, when one is 

alone. Then he thought: Wherefore should I be afraid, 

since there is nothing beside myself? 
"(3) But also he had no joy, therefore one has no joy when one 

is alone. Then he longed for a companion." 

After this there follows the description of his division quoted above. 
Plato's conception of the world-soul approaches very near to the Hindoo 
idea. " The soul in no wise needed eyes, because near it there was 
nothing visible. Nothing was separate from it, nothing approached it, 
because outside of it there was nothing" (" Timaios "). 

81 Compare with this Freud's " Three Contributions to the Sexual 

82 What seems an apparently close parallel to the position of the hand 
in the Upanishad text I observed in a little child. The child held one 
hand before his mouth and rubbed it with the other, a movement which 
may be compared to that of the violinist. It was an early infantile 
habit which persisted for a long time afterwards. 

88 Compare Freud: " Bemerkungen iiber einen Fall von Zwangs- 
neurose." 1912 Jahrbuch, Vol. I, p. 357. 

84 As shown above, in the child the libido progresses from the mouth 
zone into the sexual zone. 

5i6 THE TRANSFORMATION [pp. 157-190 

38 Compare what has been said above about Dactyli. Abundant ex- 
amples are found in Aigremont: "Fuss- und Schuhsymbolik." 

86 When, in the enormously increased sexual resistance of the present 
day, women emphasize the secondary signs of sex and their erotic 
charm by specially designed clothing, that is a phenomenon which belongs 
in the same general scheme for the heightening of allurement. 

87 It is well known that the orifice of the ear has also a sexual value. In 
a hymn to the Virgin it is called " quae per aurem concepisti." Rabelais' 
Gargantua was born through his mother's ear. Bastian ("Beitrage z. 
vergl. Psychologic," p. 238) mentions the following passage from 
an old work, " There is not to be found in this entire kingdom, even 
among the very smallest girls, a maiden, because even in her tender 
youth she puts a special medicine into her genitals, also in the orifice of 
her ears ; she stretches these and holds them open continuously." Also 
the Mongolian Buddha was born from the ear of his mother. 

88 The driving motive for the breaking up of the ring might be sought, 
as I have already intimated in passing, in the fact that the secondary 
sexual activity (the transformed coitus) never is or would be adapted 
to bring about that natural satiety, as is the activity in its real place. 
With this first step towards transformation, the first step towards the 
characteristic dissatisfaction was also taken, which later drove man 
from discovery to discovery without allowing him ever to attain satiety. 
Thus it looks from the biological standpoint, which however is not the 
only one possible. 

89 Translated by Mead and Chattopadhyaya. Sec. i, Pt. II. 

40 In a song of the Rigveda it is said that the hymns and sacrificial 
speeches, as well as all creation in general, have proceeded from the 
"entirely fire consumed" Purusha (primitive man-creator of the world). 

41 Compare Brugsch: "Religion und Myth. d. alt. Aegypter," p. 255 f., 
and the Egyptian dictionary. 

43 The German word " Schwan " belongs here, therefore it sings when 
dying. It is the sun. The metaphor in Heine supplements this very 

" Es singt der Schwan im Weiher 
Und rudert auf und ab, 
Und immer leiser singend, 
Taucht er ins Flutengrab." 

Hauptmann's " Sunken Bell " is a sun myth in which bell = sun = life = 

43 Loosely connected with ag-ilis. See Max Miiller: " Vorl. iiber den 
Ursprung und die Entwicklung der Religion," p. 237. 

44 An Eranian name of fire is Nalryoqagha = masculine word. The 
Hindoo Nard^amsa means wish of men (Spiegel: " Eran. Altertumskunde," 
II, 49). Fire has the significance of Logos (compare Ch. 7, "Sieg- 
fried "). Of Agnl (fire), Max Miiller, in his introduction to " The Science 
of Comparative Religions," says: "It was a conception familiar to 
India to consider the fire upon the altar as being at the same time 
subject and object. The fire burned the sacrifice and was thereby similar 
to the priest, the fire carried the sacrifice to the gods, and was thereby 
an intercessor between men and the gods: fire itself, however, repre- 

pp. 157-190] THE TRANSFORMATION 517 

sented also something divine, a god, and when honor was to be shown 
to this god, then fire was as much the subject as the object of the 
sacrifice. Hence the first conception, that Agni sacrificed itself, i.e. that 
it produced for itself its own sacrifice, and next that it brings itself 
to the sacrifice." The contact of this line of thought with the Christian 
symbol is plainly apparent. Krishna utters the same thought in the 
" Bhagavad-Gita," b. IV (translated by Arnold, London 1910) : 

" All's then God ! 

The sacrifice is Brahm, the ghee and grain 
Are Brahm, the fire is Brahm, the flesh it eats 
Is Brahm, and unto Brahm attaineth he 
Who, in such office, meditates on Brahm." 

The wise Diotima sees behind this symbol of fire (in Plato's sym- 
posium, c. 23). She teaches Socrates that Eros is "the intermediate 
being between mortals and immortals, a great Demon, dear Socrates; 
for everything demoniac is just the intermediate link between God and 
man." Eros has the task " of being interpreter and messenger from 
men to the gods, and from the gods to men, from the former for their 
prayers and sacrifices, from the latter for their commands and for 
their compensations for the sacrifices, and thus filling up the gap between 
both, so that through his mediation the whole is bound together with 
itself." Eros is a son of Penia (poverty, need) generated by Poros 
intoxicated with nectar. The meaning of Poros is dark; irfyoe means way 
and hole, opening. Zielinski: "Arch. f. Rel. Wissensch.," IX, 43 ff., 
places him with Phoroneus, identical with the fire-bringer, who is held 
in doubt; others identify him with primal chaos, whereas others read 
arbitrarily K<5po? and Mopof. Under these circumstances, the question 
arises whether there may not be sought behind it a relatively simple 
sexual symbolism. Eros would be then simply the son of Need and of 
the female genitals, for this door is the beginning and birthplace of 
fire. Diotima gives an excellent description of Eros: "He is manly, 
daring, persevering, a strong hunter (archer, compare below) and an 
incessant intriguer, who is constantly striving after wisdom, a powerful 
sorcerer, poison mixer and sophist ; and he is respected neither as an 
immortal nor as a mortal, but on the same day he first blooms and 
blossoms, when he has attained the fulness of the striving, then dies 
in it but always awakens again to life because of the nature of his 
father (rebirth!); attainment, however, always teats him down 
again." For this characterization, compare Chs. V, VI and VII of this 

"Compare Riklin: "Wish Fulfilment and Symbolism in Fairy Tales," 
translated by Wm. White, M.D., where a child is produced by the 
parents placing a little turnip in the oven. The motive of the furnace 
where the child is hatched is also found again in the type of the whale- 
dragon myth. It is there a regularly recurring motive because the belly 
of the dragon is very hot, so that as the result of the heat the hero 
loses his hair that is to say, he loses the characteristic covering of hair 
of the adult and becomes a child. (Naturally the hair is related to 
the sun's rays, which are extinguished in the setting of the sun.) 
Abundant examples of this motive are in Frobenius: "Das Zeitalter 
des Sonnengottes," Vol. I. Berlin 1904. 

46 This aspect of Agni is similar to Dionysus, who bears a remarkable 
parallel to both the Christian and the Hindoo mythology. 

5i8 THE ORIGIN OF THE HERO [pp. 191-232 

" Now everything in the world which is damp, he created from 
sperma, but this is the soma." Brihaddratiyaka-Upani^had, 1-4. 

48 The question is whether this significance was a secondary develop- 
ment. Kuhn seems to assume this. He says (" Herabkunft des Feuers," 
p. 18) : " However, together with the meaning of the root manth already 
evolved, there has also developed in the Vedas the conception of ' tearing 
off ' due naturally to the mode of procedure." 

49 Examples in Frobenius: "Das Zeitalter des Sonnengottes." 

80 See in this connection Stekel: "Die sexuelle Wurzel der Klepto- 
manie," Zeitschrift fur Sexualwissenschaft, 1908. 

81 Even in the Roman Catholic church at various places the custom 
prevailed for the priest to produce once a year the ceremonial fire. 

8a I must remark that the designation of onanism as a " great dis- 
covery" is not merely a play with words on my part. I owe it to two 
young patients who pretended that they were in possession of a terrible 
secret; that they had discovered something horrible, which no one had 
ever known before, because had it been known great misery would have 
overtaken mankind. Their discovery was onanism. 

83 One must in fairness, however, consider that the demands of life, 
rendered still more severe by our moral code, are so heavy that it 
simply is impossible for many people to attain that goal which can be 
begrudged to no one, namely the possibility of love. Under the cruel 
compulsion of domestication, what is left but onanism, for those people 
possessed of an active sexuality? It is well known that the most 
useful and best men owe their ability to a powerful libido. This ener- 
getic libido longs for something more than merely a Christian love for 
the neighbor. 

64 1 am fully conscious that onanism is only an intermediate phe- 
nomenon. There always remains the problem of the original division of 
the libido. 

88 In connection with my terminology mentioned in the previous 
chapter, I give the name of autoerotic to this stage following the inces- 
tuous love. Here I emphasize the erotic as a regressive phenomenon ; the 
libido blocked by the incest barrier regressively takes possession of an 
older way of functioning anterior to the incestuous object of love. This 
may be comprehended by Bleuler's terminology, Autismus, that is, the 
function of pure self-preservation, which is especially distinguished by 
the function of nutrition. However, the terminology " autismus " cannot 
very well be longer applied to the presexual material, because it is 
already used in reference to the mental state of dementia praecox where 
it has to include autoerotism plus introverted desexualized libido. 
Autismus designates first of all a pathological phenomenon of regressive 
character, the presexual material, however, of a normal functioning, the 
chrysalis stage. 


1 Therefore that beautiful name of the sun-hero Gilgamesh: Wehfroh- 
mensch (pain-joy human being). See Jensen: " Gilgamesh Epic." 

J Compare here the interesting researches of H. Silberer. 1912 Jahr- 
buch, Vol. I, p. 513. 


3 See Bleuler: Psychiatr.-neurol. Wochenschrift, XII. Jahrgang, Nr. 
18 to 21. 

4 Compare with this my explanations in Jahrbuch, Vol. Ill, p. 469. 

* Compare the exhortation by Krishna to the irresolute Arjuna in 
Bhagavad-Gita: "But thou, be free of the pairs of opposites!" Bk. II, 
" The Song Celestial," Edwin Arnold. 

' " Pensees," LIV. 

I See the following chapter. 

8 Compare John Muller: " Uber die phantastischen Gcsichtserschei- 
nungen," Coblenz 1826; and Jung: "Occult Phenomena," in Collected 
Papers on Analytic Psychology. 

* Also the related doctrine of the Upanishad. 

"Bertschinger: " Illustrierte Halluzinationen," Jakrbuth, Vol. Ill, p. 69. 

II How very important is the coronation and sun identification, is 
shown not alone from countless old customs, but also from the corre- 
sponding ancient metaphors in the religious speech: the Wisdom of 
Solomon v.ij: "Therefore, they will receive a beautiful crown from 
the hand of the Lord." I Peter v:4: "Feed the flock of God . . . and 
when the chief shepherd shall appear ye shall receive a crown of glory 
that fadeth not away." 

In a church hymn of Allendorf it is said of the soul: "The soul is 
liberated from all care and pain and in dying it has come to the crown 
of joy; she stands as bride and queen in the glitter of eternal splendor, 
at the side of the great king," etc. In a hymn by Laurentius Laurentii 
it is said (also of the soul): "The crown is entrusted to the brides 
because they conquer." In a song by Sacer we find the passage: "Adorn 
my coffin with garlands just as a conqueror is adorned, from those 
springs of heaven, my soul has attained the eternally green crown: the 
true glory of victory, coming from the son of God who has so cared 
for me." A quotation from the above-mentioned song of Allendorf is 
added here, in which we have another complete expression of the primi- 
tive psychology of the sun identification of men, which we met in the 
Egyptian song of triumph of the ascending soul. 

(Concerning the soul, continuation of the above passage:) "It [the 
soul] sees a clear countenance [sun] : his [the sun's] joyful loving nature 
now restores it through and through: it is a light in his light. Now the 
child can see the father: He feels the gentle emotion of love. Now he 
can understand the word of Jesus. He himself, the father, has loved 
you. An unfathomable sea of benefits, an abyss of eternal waves of 
blessing is disclosed to the enlightened spirit: he beholds the countenance 
of God, and knows what signifies the inheritor of God in light and the 
co-heir of Christ. The feeble body rests on the earth: it sleeps until 
Jesus awakens it. Then will the dust become the sun, which now is 
covered by the dark cavern: Then shall we come together with all the 
pious, who knows how soon, and will be for eternity with the Lord." I 
have emphasized the significant passages by italics: they speak for 
themselves, so that I need add nothing. 

" In order to avoid misunderstanding I must add that this was abso- 
lutely unknown to the patient. 

520 THE ORIGIN OF THE HERO [pp. 191-232 

18 The analysis of an eleven-year-old girl also confirms this. I gave 
a report of this in the I Congres International de Pedologie, 1911, in 

14 The identity of the divine hero with the mystic is not to be 
doubted. In a prayer written on papyrus to Hermes, it is said: ov yap 
iyu KOI iyu ov' TO abv ovo/aa e/ubv nal rb ijubv abv iyu yap el/nt TO dQo2.6v aov (For 
thou art I and I am thou, thy name is mine, and mine is thine; for 
I am thy image). (Kenyon: Greek Papyrus, in the British Museum, 
1893, p. 116, Pap. CXXII, 2. Cited by Dieterich: " Mithrasliturgie," 
p. 79.) The hero as image of the libido is strikingly illustrated in the 
head of Dionysus at Leiden (Roscher, I, Sp. 1128), where the hair rises 
like flame over the head. He is like a flame: "Thy savior will be 
a flame." Firmicus Maternus ("De Errore Prof. Relig.," 104, p. 28) ac- 
quaints us with the fact that the god was saluted as bridegroom, and 
"young light." He transmits the corrupt Greek sentence, fa vwtyt 
Xaipe vvv<f>e veov <pu$, with which he contrasts the Christian conception: 
" Nullum apud te lumen est nee est aliquis qui sponsus mereatur audire: 
unum lumen est, unus est sponsus. Nominum horum gratiam Christus 
accepit." Today Christ is still our hero and the bridegroom of the soul. 
These attributes will be confirmed in regard to Miss Miller's hero in 
what follows. 

15 The giving of a name is therefore of significance in the so-called 
spiritual manifestations. See my paper, 1902, " Occult Phenomena," Col- 
lected Papers on Analytical Psychology. 

19 The ancients recognized this demon as oworraSd^, the companion and 

17 A parallel to these phantasies are the well-known interpretations 
of the Sella Petri of the pope. 

18 When Freud called attention through his analytic researches to the 
connection between excrements and gold, many ignorant persons found 
themselves obliged to ridicule in an airy manner this connection. The 
mythologists think differently about it. De Gubernatis says that excre- 
ment and gold are always associated together. Grimm tells us of the fol- 
lowing magic charm: " If one wants money in his house the whole year, 
one must eat lentils on New Year's Day." This notable connection is 
explained simply through the physiological fact of the indigestibility of 
lentils, which appear again in the form of coins. Thus one becomes a 

19 A French father who naturally disagreed with me in regard to this 
interest in his child mentioned, nevertheless, that when the child speaks 
of cacao, he always adds "lit"; he means caca-au-lit. 

30 Freud: Jahrbuch, Vol. I, p. i. Jung: Jahrbuch, Vol. II, p. 33. See 
third lecture delivered at Clark University, 1909. 

31 1 refer to the previous etymologic connection. 

"Compare Bleuler: Jahrbuch, Vol. Ill, p. 467. 

38 " Genius and Insanity." 

34 Here again is the connection with antiquity, the infantile past. 

25 This fact is unknown to me. It might be possible that in some 
way the name of the legendary man who invented the cuneiform char- 

pp. 191-232] THE ORIGIN OF THE HERO 521 

acters has been preserved (as, for example, Sinlikiunnini as the poet 
of the Gilgamesh epic). But I have not succeeded in finding anything 
of that sort. However, Ashshurbanaplu or Asurbanipal has left behind 
that marvellous cuneiform library, which was excavated in Kujundschik. 
Perhaps " Asurubama " has something to do with this name. Further 
there comes into consideration the name of Aholibamah, which we have 
met in Part I. The word " Ahamarama " betrays equally some connec- 
tions with Anah and Aholibamah, those daughters of Cain with the 
sinful passion for the sons of God. This possibility hints at Chiwantopel 
as the longed-for son of God. (Did Byron think of the two sister whores, 
Ohola and Oholiba? Ezeck. xxiii:4.) 

26 The race does not part with its wandering sun-heroes. Thus it 
was related of Cagliostro, that he once drove at the same time four 
white horses out of a city from all the city gates simultaneously 

" Mysticism. 

28 Agni, the fire, also hides himself at times in a cavern. Therefore 
he must be brought forth again by generation from the cavity of the 
female wood. Compare Kuhn: " Herabk. des Feuers." 

" We = Allah. 

80 The " two-horned." According to the commentaries, this refers to 
Alexander the Great, who in the Arabian legends plays nearly the same 
role as the German Dietrich von Bern. The " two-horned " refers to 
the strength of the sun-bull. Alexander is often found upon coins with 
the horns of Jupiter Ammon. It is a question of identification of the 
ruler around whom so many legends are clustered, with the sun of spring 
in the signs of the bull and the ram. It is obvious that humanity had 
a great need of effacing the personal and human from their heroes, so 
as finally to make them, through a (jLeraaraois (eclipse), the equal of 
the sun, that is to say, completely into a libido-symbol. If we thought 
like Schopenhauer, then we would surely say, Libido-symbol. But if we 
thought like Goethe, then we would say, Sun ; for we exist, because the 
sun sees us. 

"VoIIers: " Chidher. Archiv fur Religionswissenschaft," p. 235, Vol. 
XII, 1909. This is the work which is my authority on the Koran com- 

82 Here the ascension of Mithra and Christ are closely related. See 
Part I. 

38 A parallel is found in the Mithra mysteries! See below. 

84 Parallel to this are the conversations of Mohammed with Elias, at 
which the sacramental bread was served. In the New Testament the 
awkwardness is restricted to the proposal of Peter. The infantile char- 
acter of such scenes is shown by similar features, thus by the gigantic 
stature of Elias in the Koran, and also the tales of the commentary, in 
which it is stated that Elias and Chidher met each year in Mecca, 
conversed and shaved each other's heads. 

86 On the contrary, according to Matthew xviini, John the Baptist is 
to be understood as Elias. 

88 Compare the Kyffhauser legend. 

522 THE ORIGIN OF THE HERO [pp. 191-232 

"Vollers: Ibid. 

88 Another account says that Alexander had been in India on the 
mountain of Adam with his " minister " Chidher. 

38 These mythological equations follow absolutely the rule of dreams, 
where the dreamer can be resolved into many analogous forms. 

40 " He must grow, but I must waste away." John 111:30. 
"Cumont: " Textes et Monuments," p. 172. 

42 The parallel between Hercules and Mithra may be drawn even 
more closely. Like Hercules, Mithra is an excellent archer. Judging 
from certain monuments, not only the youthful Hercules appears to be 
threatened by a snake, but also Mithra as a youth. The meaning of 
the af&og of Hercules (the work) is the same as the Mithraic mystery of 
the conquering and sacrifice of the bull. 

43 These three scenes are represented in a row on the Klagenfurt 
monument. Thus the dramatic connection of these must be surmised 
(Cumont: " Myst. des Mithras"). 

44 Also the triple crown. 

45 The Christian sequence is John Christ, Peter Pope. 

48 The immortality of Moses is proven by the parallel situation with 
Elias in the transfiguration. 

47 See Frobenius: "Das Zeitalter des Sonnengottes." 

48 Therefore the fish is the symbol of the " Son of God " ; at the same 
time the fish is also the symbol of the approaching world-cycle. 

49 Riklin: "Wish Fulfilment and Symbolism." 

50 Inman: "Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian Symbolism." 

81 The amniotic membrane (?). 

62 The Etrurian Tages, who sprang from the " freshly ploughed fur- 
row," is also a teacher of wisdom. In the Litaolane myth of the Basutos, 
there is a description of how a monster devoured all men and left only 
one woman, who gave birth to a son, the hero, in a stable (instead of a 
cave: see the etymology of this myth). Before she had arranged a bed 
for the infant out of the straw, he was already grown and spoke " words 
of wisdom." The quick growth of the hero, a frequently recurring 
motive, appears to mean that the birth and apparent childhood of the 
hero are so extraordinary because his birth really means his rebirth, 
therefore he becomes very quickly adapted to his hero role. Compare 

53 Battle of Re with the night serpent. 

64 Matthew iii: u. 

65 " Das Gilgameshepos in der Weltliteratur," Vol. I, p. 50. 

B * The difference between this and the Mithra sacrifice seems to be 
extraordinarily significant. The Dadophores are harmless gods of light 
who do not participate in the sacrifice. The animal is lacking in the 
sacrifice of Christ. Therefore there are two criminals who suffer the 
same death. The scene is much more dramatic. The inner connection 

pp. 191-232] THE ORIGIN OF THE HERO 523 

of the Dadophores to Mithra, of whi'ch I will speak later, allows us 
to assume the same relation of Christ to the criminals. The scene with 
Barabbas betrays that Christ is the god of the ending year, who is 
represented by one of the thieves, while the one of the coming year is 

57 For example, the following dedication is found on a monument: 
D. I. M. (Deo Invicto Mithrae) Cautopati. One discovers sometimes 
Deo Mithrae Caute or Deo Mithrae Cautopati in a similar alternation 
as Deo Invicto Mithrae or sometimes Deo Invicto or, merely, Invicto. 
It also appears that the Dadophores are fitted with knife and bow, the 
attributes of Mithra. From this it is to be concluded that the three 
figures represent three different states of a single person. Compare 
Cumont: " Textes et Monuments," p. 208. 

08 Cited by Cumont: "Textes et Monuments," p. 208. 
59 Ibid. 

50 Taurus and Scorpio are the equinoctial signs for the period from 
4300 to 2150 B.C. These signs, long since superseded, were retained even 
in the Christian era. 

81 Under some circumstances, it is also sun and moon. 

62 In order to characterize the individual and the all-soul, the personal 
and the super-personal, Atman, a verse of the Shvetdshvatara-Upanishad 
(Deussen) makes use of the following comparison: 

"Zwei schon befliigelte verbundne Freunde 
Umarmen einen und denselben Baum; 
Einer von ihnen speist die siisse Beere, 
Der andre schaut, nicht essend, nur herab." 

(Two closely allied friends, beautifully winged, embrace one 
and the same tree; One of them eats the sweet berries, the other 
not eating merely looks downwards.) 

63 Among the elements composing man, in the Mithraic Jiturgy, fire is 
especially emphasized as the divine element, and described as TO elf 
ifj.7fv upaoiv QeoduptjTov (The divine gift in my composition). Dietrich: 
Ibid., p. 58. 

84 It is sufficient to point to the loving interest which mankind and 
also the God of the Old Testament has for the nature of the penis, and 
how much depends upon it. 

65 The testicles easily count as twins. Therefore in vulgar speech 
the testicles are called the Siamese twins. (" Anthropophyteia," VII, 
p. 20. Quoted by Stekel: " Sprache des Traumes," p. 169.) 

66 " Recherches sur le culte, etcf, de Venus," Paris, 1837. Quoted by 
Inman: "Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian Symbolism," New York, 
p. 4. 

67 The androgynous element is not to be undervalued in the faces of 
Adonis, Christ, Dionysus and Mithra, and hints at the bisexuality of the 
libido. The smooth-shaven face and the feminine clothing of the Catholic 
priest contain a very old female constituent from the Attis-Cybele cult. 

88 Stekel ("Sprache des Traumes") has again and again noted the 
Trinity as a phallic symbol. For example, see p. 27. 

524 SYMBOLISM OF THE MOTHER [pp. 233-306 

69 Sun's rays = Phalli. 

70 In a Bakairi myth a woman appears, who has sprung from a corn 
mortar. In a Zulu myth it is said: A woman is to catch a drop of blood 
in a vessel, then close the vessel, put it aside for eight months and open 
it in the ninth month. She follows the advice, opens the vessel in the 
ninth month, and finds a child in it. (Frobenius: "Das Zeitalter des 
Sonnengottes " [The Age of the Sun-God], I, p. 237.) 

71 Inman: Ibid., p. 10, Plate IX. 

"Roscher: "Lexicon," Sp. 2733/4. See section, Men. 

78 A well-known sun animal, frequent as a phallic symbol. 

74 Like Mithra and the Dadophores. 

76 The castration in the service of the mother explains this quotation 
in a very significant manner: Exod. iv:2$: "Then Zipporah took a sharp 
stone, and cut off her son's foreskin and cast it at his feet and said, 
Surely, a bloody husband art thou to me." This passage shows what 
circumcision means. 

70 Gilgamesh, Dionysus, Hercules, Christ, Mithra, and so on. 

77 Compare with this, Graf: " R. Wagner im Fliegenden Hollander: 
Schriften zur angewandten Seelenkunde." 

78 1 have pointed out above, in reference to the Zosimos vision, that 
the altar meant the uterus, corresponding to the baptismal font. 

1 Freud : " Dream Interpretation." 

3 1 am indebted to Dr. Abegg in Zurich for the knowledge of Indra and 
Urvara, Domaldi and Rama. 

3 Medieval Christianity also considered the Trinity as dwelling in the 
womb of the holy Virgin. 

4 " Symbolism," Plate VII. 

"Another form of the same motive is the Persian idea of the tree of 
life, which stands in the lake of rain, Vourukasha. The seeds of this 
tree were mixed with water and by that the fertility of the earth was 
maintained. " Vendidad," 5, 57, says: The waters flow "to the lake 
Vourukasha, down to the tree Hvapa; there my trees of many kinds all 
grow. I cause these waters to rain down as food for the pure man, 
as fodder for the well-born cow. (Impregnation, in terms of the pre- 
sexual stage.) Another tree of life is the white Haoma, which grows 
in the spring Ardvigura, the water of life." Spiegel: " Eran. Alter- 
tumskunde," I, 465, 467. 

6 Excellent examples of this are given in the work of Rank, "The 
Myth of the Birth of the Hero," translated by Wm. White. 

T Shadows probably mean the soul, the nature of which is the same as 
libido. Compare with this Part I. 

8 But I must mention that Nork (" Realworterbuch," sub. Theben und 
Schiff) pleads that Thebes is the ship city; his arguments are much 

pp. 233-306] SYMBOLISM OF THE MOTHER 525 

attacked. From among his arguments I emphasize a quotation from 
Diodorus (I, 57), according to which Sesostris (whom Nork associates 
with Xisuthros) had consecrated to the highest god in Thebes a vessel 
280 els long. In the dialogue of Lucius (Apuleius: " Metam.," lib. II, 
28), the night journey in the sea was used as an erotic figure of speech: 
" Hac enim sitarchia navigium Veneris indiget sola, ut in nocte pervigili 
et oleo lucerna et vino calix abundet " (For the ship of Venus needs 
this provision in order that during the night the lamp may abound with 
oil and the goblet with wine). The union of the coitus motive with 
the motive of pregnancy is to be found in the " night journey on the 
sea " of Osiris, who in his mother's womb copulated with hrs sister. 

"Very illuminating psychologically is the method and the manner in 
which Jesus treats his mother, when he harshly repels her. Just as 
strong and intense as this, has the longing for her imago grown in his 
unconscious. It is surely not an accident that the name Mary accom- 
panies him through life. Compare the utterance of Matthew x:ss: 
" I have come to set a man at variance with his father, a daughter with 
her mother. He who loves father and mother more than me is not 
worthy of me." This directly hostile purpose, which calls to mind the 
legendary role of Bertran de Born, is directed against the incestuous 
bond and compels man to transfer his libido to the Saviour, who, dying, 
returning into his mother and rising again, is the hero Christ. 

10 Genitals. 

11 The horns of the dragon have the following attributes: "They will 
prey upon woman's flesh and they will burn with fire." The horn, a 
phallic emblem, is in the unicorn the symbol of the Holy Ghost (Logos). 
The unicorn is hunted by the archangel Gabriel, and driven into the lap 
of the Virgin, by which was understood the immaculate conception. But 
the horns are also sun's rays, therefore the sun-gods are often horned. 
The sun phallus is the prototype of the horn (sun wheel and phallus 
wheel), therefore the horn is the symbol of power. Here the horns 
"burn with fire" and prey upon the flesh; one recognizes in this a 
representation of the pains of hell where souls were burnt by the fire 
of the libido (unsatisfied longing). The harlot is "consumed" or 
burned by unsatisfied longing (libido). Prometheus suffers a similar 
fate, when the eagle, sun-bird (libido), tears his intestines: one might 
also say, that he was pierced by the "horn." I refer to the phallic 
meaning of the spear. 

"In the Babylonian underworld, for example. The souls have a 
feathery coat like birds. See the Gilgamesh epic. 

18 In a fourteenth-century Gospel at Bruges there is a miniature where 
the " woman " lovely as the mother of God stands with half her body 
in a dragon. 

14 rd apviov, little ram, diminutive of the obsolete op#v ram. (In 
Theophrastus it occurs with the meaning of "young scion.") The 
related word apvi$ designates a festival annually celebrated in honor 
of Linos, in which the Mvog, the lament called Linos, was sung as a 
lamentation for Linos, the new-born son of Psamathe and Apollo, torn 
to pieces by dogs. The mother had exposed her child out of fear of 
her father Krotopos. But for re